


Dead Men Don't Bleed

by orphan_account



Series: Dead Men Don't Bleed [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Gen, Grief, Past Child Abuse, Post-Goblet of Fire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4943005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's life with the Dursleys has never been ideal. He's learned to accept that. Sirius doesn't think he should have to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Where Dudley is a Pygmy Puff

The sky was dancing black and white above Harry's head. Which might have been all right… if the sun had already set. But at just before dinner time, the sky was probably supposed to be blue—well, maybe gray since it had looked a bit like a storm was coming when Dudley and his gang had ambushed him in the park.

And if Harry hadn't been trying quite so hard to block Cedric's vacant eyes from his mind, he might have been able to defend himself a bit better. Or if Dudley and Piers hadn't asked him why he kept muttering Cedric's name—that might have helped as well.

"He looks like he's dead…"

A foot nudged his elbow.

"He's blinking, you tosser."

Another nudge; this one not quite so wary.

"Should we leave him?"

"Well, I'm not carrying him home. Sodding git can find his own way."

"It's going to rain."

A kick this time, aimed at his ribs. "He won't melt. Let's go."

There was sound like an explosion—a brief flash of light and Harry had a fleeting wish that he'd brought an umbrella; thunder definitely wasn't a good sign… There were several squeaks, reminding Harry of the sounds Scabbers used to make when he was frightened.

"What was that?"

"Shit!"

"Bloody…"

"Come _on!_ "

Clumsy, scrambling feet knocked into Harry's arms, but before he could begin the inevitable struggle to his stand, a fuzzy shape appeared in his line of vision. Pale and dark; hues mixed together into something that he should have recognized.

"I've turned the big one into a pygmy puff; hope you weren't fond of him."

Panic and a relief. Impossible to swirl them together into one heady emotion, but there it was.

"Sirius?" And apparently that tangled emotion made his voice an octave higher. Or maybe it was his bloodied nose making him sound so strange.

Fingers brushed against his forehead in a gentle sweep. "Yeah, it's me. Oy, Harry…" Sirius whispered softly, his voice rough now. "They've really done a job on you. Lie still for a moment; let me make certain nothing is broken."

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, now that panic had had a chance to settle in. "What if someone sees you?"

"Don't worry, no one will recognize me." Harry wanted to ask why, but Sirius murmured, "Hush," followed by a simple diagnostic and then blew out a breath. "I'm going to help you sit up. All right?"

Harry nodded. He gasped as Sirius put an arm behind his back and guided him up.

"What hurts?" Sirius asked, a bit sharply.

Harry wrapped an arm around his ribs as the world swam again. "There were four of them… so just about everything."

Harry was fairly certain Sirius swore, but it was muttered too quietly to be certain. "They've bloodied your nose… I haven't got a flannel."

"It's fine." Ignoring his throbbing head, Harry squinted, trying to make out his godfather's features.

"Here… Reparo," Carefully, Sirius maneuvered the arms of Harry's spectacles in place. He smiled slightly at Harry's look of surprise.

"You..."

"I stole Mundungus' face. An order member." Sirius leaned in; except that this face was a land mine of scabs and Harry instinctively drew back. Sirius stopped moving abruptly. "Sorry," he said with a frown. "It really is me."

Harry nodded, and then wished he hadn't as pain throbbed everywhere.

Sirius peered at him, leaning in again and this time Harry stayed still. Otherwise, he thought he might sick up. "Come on, kid," Sirius said decisively, winding an arm round his waist, "if you can stand, we need to get out of here. The glamour won't last long."

"The Dursleys…"

"We're not going to the Dursleys."

"But—"

"Your cousin did this to you, didn't he?" Sirius asked as he helped Harry to his feet.

"Yeah, but—"

"I'm not taking you back there, you can barely stand. We'll get your things later. Do you have your wand?"

"Yeah. But Dudley…"

Sirius sighed. "I didn't really turn him into a pygmy puff. He and those other cowards are probably already home by now. A harmless exploding spell to frighten them," he explained before Harry could ask. "It's going to rain…"

He tucked Harry against his chest, his arms secure but not too tight, which was good because Harry was beginning to feel like a massive bruise. Even so, he couldn't help one last protest. "Sirius—"

"Whatever you're going to say, Harry, don't. I don't care about any of that right now. Hold tight." And with that, Sirius turned on the spot and they left Little Whinging behind.

The world continued to spin even when they were solid again and Harry immediately vomited. He felt Sirius turning him, not letting him go even as he sicked up all over his godfather's boots.

"I'm sorry," he breathed when there was nothing left. Moisture had gathered at the corners of his eyes and he hoped to bloody hell it was only because of the retching.

"It's all right…" Sirius helped Harry onto the bed in the middle of the room they'd appeared in and then chanted several cleaning charms. "Don't move," he said as he stood. Harry watched him—still with the stranger's face—until he disappeared out the only door.

He looked around the room; had no idea where Sirius had brought him. It was a bedroom obviously, but the furniture was tattered, a thick layer of dust covered most everything, and the mattress he was sitting on felt like several of the springs had gone missing.

Sirius came back in the room. "Better?" he asked with a faint smile. Mundungus' features were gone, replaced by the familiar black hair and grey eyes. Harry relaxed a little as his godfather knelt in front of him. Sirius caught the back of Harry's head with his palm. "Here… I'm going to mop up some of this blood…"

Harry held still as with gentle fingers, Sirius stemmed the trickle of blood with a damp flannel. Coming from both his nose and lip, Harry realized. "I have Disinfecting Potion and Bruise Salve… the potion will probably sting."

"'S'allright."

Sirius smiled at him again, meant to bolster. He opened the flask that he'd brought back from where ever he went. The potion burned the skin around Harry's eye. Through the grimace he asked, "Where are we?"

"My parents' house in London," Sirius answered, his attention on spreading the thin potion. "I'll be living here for awhile. Sorry… almost done." He capped the flask with a sigh and picked up the Bruise Salve. "It won't be as effective as fresh; everything's a bit old here." Harry shrugged; he could handle the bruises.

When Sirius finished, he pointed his wand at Harry's mouth and chanted a quick healing spell for the split lip. Then he sat back on his heels, studying Harry's face.

"How long have you been here?" Harry interrupted the scrutiny. Sirius frowned and gestured for Harry to lift his shirt.

"I just arrived yesterday; let me see your back."

Harry twisted, wincing a little at that too.

"Wait," Sirius said quickly, grabbing a shoulder gingerly to keep him still and sitting next to him to inspect his back.

"How did you know where I was?" Harry asked.

"Dumbledore has been assigning various people to keep an eye on you… there's been a lot of suspicious activity since Voldemort returned," Sirius explained as he spread salve on the side that Piers had kicked the most. "It was Mundungus' turn; he Apparated back here right after he left, shouting about some boys hitting you in a park."

Harry hissed in pain as Sirius' fingers pressed into a particularly tender spot.

"Sorry…"

"Why didn't he just stop them himself?"

"Because Mundungus has the brain of a flea," Sirius muttered. "Where else does it hurt?"

Harry shook his head, felt another rush of nausea.

"Your head?"

"Yeah… a bit."

"Lumos." The tip of Sirius' wand lit up. He used it to peer into Harry's eyes. "You probably have concussion. That's why you're nauseous, I expect. I have potions for that as well…"

He stood and went over to a large rucksack sitting near a dresser. He rummaged through it and came back with three vials. "I visited an apothecary on the islands last summer," Sirius explained. "Bought them out; Muggle drugs don't work as well on wizards. Take all three of them. One is for all the other aches, and one is for stomach upset."

Harry hesitated. "What if you need them?"

Sirius stared at him. "I'll live," he finally said, shaking his head. "Now swallow them, no arguments."

Harry obeyed.

"You're clothes are torn…" Sirius said as he banished the vials, "… and about three times too large." He cocked his head, his brows furrowing in concern. "Have you been ill?"

"They're Dudley's castoffs," Harry said with a shrug. "They don't buy me clothes often."

Sirius was quiet as he replaced the lid on the salve. "Often?" he finally asked. "Or ever?"

Another shrug. "Ever, I guess."

Sirius' brows drew together. "And today… this—" He gestured to Harry's face. "—has happened before?"

Harry smiled a little bit. "They don't usually catch me."

"Why haven't you told your aunt and uncle?"

"I used to."

Sirius' face went very still. "I see," he said very quietly.

"They haven't touched me in years," Harry offered, trying to allay his godfather's obvious anger. Sirius' head jerked up.

"They?" Sirius echoed with eyes stretched wide. "Your aunt and uncle—"

"No," Harry said hastily, "not them. Dudley and his gang. Dudley's usually too frightened to come near me these days." Smirking he added, "They probably won't come near me again."

Instead of smiling, Sirius frowned at him. "This isn't funny."

"Well, I know that," Harry answered—perhaps a bit flippantly. "Especially not when Dudley split my lip."

Sirius' lips pressed into a thin line. He went back over to his rucksack, this time pulling out a grey shirt. He eyed it critically, glanced back at Harry and chanted a terse Shrinking Spell. He tossed it to Harry. "Put this on. I'll find you a pair of trousers."

Wondering if his godfather was irritated with his glib response, Harry shimmied out of his t-shirt and buttoned up the new shirt as quickly as his abused muscles would allow. Sirius was still frowning as he dug into the sack and pulled out a pair of trousers.

"These are fine," Harry said quietly, gesturing to Dudley's too-large and faded jeans. It wasn't as if he hadn't worn stained or torn clothes before.

"They are not fine," Sirius said shortly. He shrunk the pair he'd just taken out of his sack and handed them over. "Put them on." He turned his back, giving Harry privacy but asked gruffly a moment later, "Do you need help?"

"Er… no, don't think so." The old pair came off easily, though it was a bit tricky to step into the new ones; his legs felt like lead now that adrenaline was no longer warming his muscles. Once he'd managed, he folded the castoffs into a neat pile and said awkwardly, "I'm done."

Sirius turned around, his stiff muscles relaxing a little. "Do they fit?"

"Yeah," Harry said quietly, giving the shirt an absent tug. "Thanks."

Sirius nodded and crossed his arms loosely over his chest; uncrossed them again. He sighed, and then looking Harry right in the eye, he asked bluntly, "Have your aunt or uncle ever hurt you?"

It took a second for Harry to gather his thoughts together. "I already told you, it was Dudley—and this hasn't happened in years."

"No," Sirius said quietly, "that isn't what I meant." He sat on the bed beside Harry again. "Have they ever hurt you?" He cleared his throat. "Punished you?"

"Uncle Vernon, sometimes," Harry answered truthfully, thinking of the beefy hand that had been around his neck just a few hours ago. "I've gotten pretty good at staying out of his way though; he hasn't bothered me much since I went to Hogwarts."

Sirius' face had frozen again, except for a small quiver along his jaw. When he spoke, the tremor was in his voice as well. "What exactly do you mean, _bothered_ you?"

"Dunno," Harry said with a shrug. "When he was really irritated he might have smacked me, or tossed me into my cupboard—"

"Your _what?_ "

"Eh?" Harry cocked his head, understanding dawning with Sirius' gaping expression. "Oh. Well, I thought you knew about that."

His godfather's eyes narrowed. "Knew about what?"

"Dumbledore knew I slept in the cupboard under the stairs," Harry said defensively. "My Hogwarts letter was addressed that way."

Sirius' jaw appeared to be unhinged. "Your… Dumbledore knew…" But that was all he seemed to be able to splutter.

"I don't sleep there anymore… er, if that helps."

"No, that doesn't help!" As if realizing that he looked a bit like the photograph in his Wanted posters, Sirius took a deep breath and forcibly relaxed his shoulders.

"What else don't I know?" He held up a hand and ticked off the list with his fingers. "They made you sleep in the boot cupboard, let their son use you for target practice and didn't buy you clothes. Did they feed you?" he demanded, sarcasm marring the question. And apparently, Harry's face was answer enough. "Bloody…"

The rest of the expletive was cut short as Sirius shook his head. "I'm sorry," he said unevenly. "If I had known—"

"Sirius—"

"Look, Harry," Sirius interrupted in a steadier tone, "I understand that this sort of thing is difficult to talk about. But we need to."

Harry sighed. "It isn't that it's difficult to talk about," he explained. "There just isn't any point, and it doesn't matter—"

"Of course it matters!"

Harry's lip twisted into a wry smile at the outraged look on his godfather's face. "I know they shouldn't treat me the way they do. I mean, I've seen enough of proper families to know that much. But there's nothing you can do about it, Sirius. They've always hated me."

He hadn't meant to hurt his godfather by saying that, but the flash of pain in Sirius' eyes, before he looked away, confirmed that he had.

Sirius stood silently and went back to his sack, dropping down and removing a wooden box from its depths. "Your parents," he said as he sat once more on the bed, "were extraordinary people." He opened the lid and took out a photograph, his gaze lingering even as he gave it to Harry.

Harry smiled. His mum and dad were standing close together, their arms linked as they smiled back at him. A much younger version of Sirius was standing beside his dad; Remus next to him. Moody was there as well. And McGonagall. He didn't recognize anyone else though.

"We were called the Order of the Phoenix," Sirius said; Harry glanced at him. "We worked for Dumbledore during the first war. A sort of secret organization. It's yours to keep, if you like."

"Yeah?"

Sirius smiled. He pulled two more photos from the box, one of Sirius, Remus and Harry's dad—though a rough edge suggested Wormtail had once stood next to Remus. And the last photograph, Harry stared at that one the longest.

"You were only a few hours old…"

Harry gazed at his tiny self, content in his godfather's arms. And the grin on Sirius' young face.

"They loved you very much."

Harry struggled with his own emotions, wondering if Sirius knew his eyes were shining with tears. Sirius looked straight at him and Harry realized that his godfather knew it quite well. "They wouldn't have wanted you with those people," he said with a conviction that hit deep, somewhere in Harry's chest.

Sirius took a steadying breath. "I know that doesn't help."

"No, it does," Harry said through the ache in his throat. "It's good to know that someone did."

"Harry…" The word came out roughly. Sirius cleared his throat and said very quietly, "They aren't the only ones who love you."

A slow smile crept onto Harry's lips.

Sirius smiled as well, the dark shadows receding a little from his eyes. Harry ducked his head, grinning quite broadly now. Sirius cupped the back of his head lightly, for a just a moment.

"What are you doing here then?" Harry asked, glad his voice came out about the same as usual.

"Actually," Sirius said, looking amused for some reason as he replaced his set of photos in the box and leaned back a little on his hands, "I'm not supposed to tell you that. Dumbledore's orders."

Harry narrowed his eyes, recognizing a teasing tone when he heard it.

Sirius smiled. "But since we have exactly—" he glanced at his watch. "—six and half hours before Tonks—she's an Auror—takes over guard duties and notices you've gone missing, I think I have time to tell you before Dumbledore insists I don't."

Grinning, Harry shifted on the bed to get a position that wouldn't aggravate every aching nerve ending.

"Lean back," Sirius instructed, gesturing with his chin and then adjusting the pillows until Harry was comfortable. "Now then," Sirius said with a little nod, "where to begin?"


	2. Burn that Sucker Down

Feeling like he'd been hit by several Bludgers in one go, Harry blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. Sirius' room. His room when he'd been a kid anyway. And here Harry was lying in his godfather's bed.

He stifled a moan as he sat up. God, his ribs hurt. How many times had Piers kicked him anyway?

With fumbling fingers, he shoved his glasses on and then stopped moving abruptly as he saw his godfather, asleep on a folded blanket. On the floor. "Shit," he muttered to himself. Making a person's godfather sleep on the floor seemed like a rather ungrateful thing to do, considering said godfather had saved him a limping trip back to the Dursleys. Not to mention the potions Harry had used up. Or the clothes Sirius gave him.

Even if it was an odd feeling to be wearing Sirius' clothes. A nice feeling actually. Because Sirius hadn't had to give him his clothes.

He'd wanted to.

Which only made Harry feel guiltier that he'd commandeered Sirius' bed.

Not sure what to do now, Harry pushed the blankets aside. He could probably find the kitchen. Breakfast might be a nice way to make up for stealing a perfectly good night's sleep. He had to squeeze past the nest his godfather had made; it was shoved right up next to the bed.

The corridor outside the bedroom was dark. Deciding that he would probably get in trouble somehow for casting a Lumos, he felt along the walls, nearly plunging down a very steep flight of stairs after a few steps. Stairs that went on forever, or so it seemed. There were landings in between but Harry didn't stop until the stairs ended.

It was a bit lighter down here anyway. And it only made the whole house seem creepier. Not the sort of place Harry had imagined Sirius had been referring to when he'd asked Harry to come live with him a year ago. It smelled rancid, and he was fairly certain there were rats scurrying around—or something small and skittery at any rate.

He squinted, finding an open doorway and another—much shorter—set of stairs. He took that and yes, it was a kitchen. It looked like a kitchen—

"Augh!"

He leapt back as he found two large, round eyes staring up at him. "Filthy Mudblood," muttered the owner of the eyes. A house-elf, Harry could see now, with help from the tiny candle he was holding in a gnarled hand.

"Erm…"

The elf muttered under his breath, knocking into Harry as he went past and up the stairs. Definitely, this place was odd. And there wasn't much in the way of food either. Tinned beans wouldn't make a very appetizing—

"Harry!" Pounding feet accompanied the frantic call. Harry whipped his wand out and spun around. "Harry!"

Sirius burst down the stairs and into the kitchen before Harry could even take a step. Sirius came to a careening halt as soon as he saw him, his wand held out like a sword, his chest heaving. "Don't _do_ that!" he said on an exploded breath.

Harry stared at him. "Do what?"

Sirius scowled as he straightened his crooked shirt and shoved a lock of hair out of his face. "I thought you'd been kidnapped."

"Oh." Harry sort of wanted to smile at that, but Sirius didn't look at all amused. "Sorry… I haven't been."

Sirius made a face as he shoved his wand back into his pocket. "I can see that, thank you very much." He waved a hand and the sconces along the walls came to life. "What are you doing in here?"

Harry blinked several times, adjusting to the bright lamps. "I thought I'd make breakfast…"

Sirius straightened. "Are you hungry? Sorry, I should have realized you would be. Here," he said quickly, motioning to the table, "sit down and I'll make you something. What would you like? I have eggs and toast. Maybe even a banger or two… sit, sit… the table's clean."

But Harry didn't move toward the long table, too startled by the offer. "You don't have to…"

Sirius peered around the cupboard door he'd just stuck his head into. "Don't have to what?"

Harry gripped the back of his neck, shrugging. "Make breakfast… I don't mind doing it."

Sirius mouth pressed together, those grey eyes boring into him but only for a second and then he smiled. "My scrambled eggs are delicious though. And toast… well, let's just say I haven't burned it once since I've been here."

Harry smiled.

"Well?" Sirius asked, eyes widening a little. "Sitting? We do that with a chair, you know."

"Yeah," Harry said with a laugh, "I know." So he sat in the chair closest to the stove and watched his godfather cracking eggs into a bowl. "You keep your eggs in the cupboard?" he thought to ask.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder, not breaking rhythm with the eggs. "Cold cupboard—magically charmed to keep everything cold."

"Yeah? That's brilliant."

Sirius grinned at him. "Magic is rather brilliant." He poured the beaten eggs into the frying pan and began swirling figure eights. "Had to have Mundungus fetch food for me," he explained. "Just a few things to get me through the next few days."

A cold feeling spread through Harry's stomach. A few days… Of course, Harry could handle going back to the Dursleys. Things there really weren't so bad. And Dudley would be back to being too frightened to come near him.

He flattened his palms against the dull table top, staring at the grain as he asked quietly, "Where are you going?"

"Me? I'm not going anywhere."

Harry's head came up. Sirius was sliding the steaming eggs onto two plates.

"Molly Weasley is bringing her family here in two days," Sirius said as he set a plate in front of Harry; added two pieces of hot buttered toast. "Dumbledore is gathering everyone." He smiled a little. "Molly is in charge of meals… self-appointed."

"Oh." Harry couldn't have explained why it was hard to look at Sirius right then, but since it was, he concentrated on spearing eggs onto his fork, remembering after two bites to say, "Thanks."

"You're welcome." Sirius poured juice into Harry's glass and Harry had to look up to take a sip. He paused with the glass pressed to his lips. Sirius' was empty and when Harry switched his gaze to the glass jug it had come from, that was empty too.

He lowered the glass back to the table. Sirius finished chewing and asked, "Not to your liking? Mundungus went to a Muggle grocer… it's something called—" He twisted the jug and peered at the label. "—Paradise Punch."

Harry shook his head swiftly. "No, no, it's all right. I just… There isn't enough."

Sirius bit off a corner of toast. "Don't worry about that. Water works just as well. I know you must be able to eat more than that," he said with a smirk. "You're fifteen, and if you're anything like your dad… I once watched him eat an entire goose."

Harry couldn't help the smile, something that seemed to happen often when he was around Sirius.

"Your grandmother was very annoyed," Sirius added as he bit through another toast corner. "It was Christmas dinner."

"He ate the Christmas goose?" Harry said, impressed and disgusted all at once.

Sirius nodded. "The entire thing. Bit of a pig, your dad," he said fondly. He gestured to Harry's plate. "Tuck in. And drink your juice."

So Harry did.

"They must have realized that I'm gone by now," he said once he'd finished off the eggs and was nibbling on half a crust.

"Oh, I'm certain Tonks would have noticed hours ago," Sirius answered as he dusted crumbs from his fingers and balanced his elbows on either side of his plate. "Dumbledore is avoiding telling me."

"Why?"

"Thinks I would do something foolish like joining in the search." He winked. "And he'd be right."

Harry frowned. "He'll be angry that you came to fetch me, then?"

Sirius shrugged. "Angry is a rather strong word to apply to Dumbledore… most of the time anyway. But no, he won't be pleased."

Harry dropped the half-eaten crust and pushed the plate away. Of course not. Why should Dumbledore be pleased that Harry was with someone who didn't want to stuff him in a cupboard? "Much better to have me where he can keep an eye on me," he muttered.

"I don't think that's the reason he wants you to stay at the Dursleys," Sirius said slowly. "I asked him several times if he could arrange for you to stay here with me sooner, but he refused me every time. And if he truly did want to keep an eye on you, it would be easier here."

Harry barely heard the last part, he was too busy basking in the other. _I asked him several times… for you to stay here with me…_

It was even better than the clothes.

Harry fought the stupid smile off his face. Sirius was smiling too though, so he probably didn't need to try quite so hard. He did anyway and said, "Do you think it has something to do with the Prophecy that Voldemort wants?"

Sirius pressed a thumb against the side of his chin; shook his head. "Could be, but I have no idea what."

Harry tilted his glass, watching the few droplets of yellow juice sliding along the side, thinking about everything Sirius had told him last night. Which, really, hadn't been all that much since Dumbledore was so fond of his secrets.

"Try not to fret over it," Sirius broke into his thoughts. "You are not going back there."

"Dumbledore will say I have to," Harry said, letting the glass sit upright again. Maybe not this summer, but the next would just be like all the others.

"Not as long as I have something to say about it," Sirius said grimly.

But you don't, Harry wanted to say. But of course he didn't say that. Even though Sirius couldn't do anything. And anyway, it wasn't so bad. A month or two of staying with the Dursleys every year. He'd managed a lifetime with them, after all. What were a few more summers?

"How are you feeling?" Sirius asked. He had leaned forward a bit, his eyes roaming over Harry's face. "We should try a bit more of the Bruise Salve for your eye."

"It's all right; doesn't hurt." It hurt a little but it hardly seemed worth mentioning.

"Well, at least another pain potion then," Sirius said as he stood up. He collected their plates and set them in the sink, taking Harry's glass too when Harry stood up. "You look as though you could use some."

Surprised at the observation, Harry said, "I do?"

"Unless you usually grimace every time you move?"

"Er… no, guess not."

Sirius smiled. "Well, then, let's go upstairs and take care of that, shall we? And then we can find something to do… I have a chess set… not much else. A few books. It is frighteningly boring around here actually…"

"I like chess."

"Do you?" Sirius' eyes lit up. "The set's a bit dusty… my grandfather gave it to me when I was eleven; forgot I had it. We used to challenge each other to matches—the other Marauders and me. Sometimes, the entire tower would have marathon sessions."

"I usually play with Ron," Harry said. "Not very well, though."

Sirius slung an arm round his shoulders and they walked up the stairs and into the parlour. "We'll change that. I am quite brilliant, you see."

Harry grinned. "And humble."

"Humble, no," Sirius said, shaking his head solemnly. "But very brilliant."

Harry's chuckle was cut off by an eerie creak; one that made Sirius sigh. "Front door," he explained, a hand flapping toward the corridor off the stairs that Harry had yet to explore.

"Dumbledore?"

"Probably."

Harry felt his muscles tensing; Sirius squeezed a shoulder before he pulled his arm away and without any fuss, moved so that he was standing in front of Harry. Footsteps echoed down the corridor; footsteps that sounded annoyed. But that just might have been Harry's imagination.

"Sirius," Dumbledore greeted before Harry even saw him and then Sirius stepped aside. Dumbledore's expression went from grim to surprise to snapping ire in less than five seconds. His blue eyes narrowed and he turned his glare to Sirius. "This is what you have stooped to, Sirius?"

Sirius' lips parted, his shock rivaling Harry's own. He regained his composure almost immediately, except for the crimson now staining his cheeks. "This isn't—"

"We have been looking for Harry for hours, Sirius," Dumbledore went on in that cutting tone he rarely used. "When Alastor suggested you might have something to do with his disappearance, I refused to believe it. I didn't believe that you would resort to kidnapping your own godson."

"He didn't!" Harry blurted before he could stop himself. Dumbledore turned his head.

His blue eyes were cold as he said, "Harry, you needn't defend him. And please gather whatever belongings you have here. You need to return to the Dursleys—"

"What?" Sirius demanded, red splotching his neck now as well. "No! Did you even look at him? Look at his face!"

Dumbledore gazed at Harry for a moment, his eyes flicking once to Sirius. "What happened, Harry?" he asked, in a tone that Harry didn't like at all.

"His cousin hit him," Sirius answered tightly before Harry could.

"Is this true, Harry?" And it was like Dumbledore was looking right through him.

"Yes, sir…"

The sensation persisted for a few seconds longer and then Dumbledore sighed. "I am certain that whatever you and Dudley were quarreling about can be resolved once you are home—"

"They weren't quarreling," Sirius cut in, his words still clipped. "His cousin and three other boys attacked him in a park. And if Mundungus hadn't told me when he did, he would probably still be there."

Dumbledore didn't even glance at him. "We will explain what happened to your aunt and uncle," he said to Harry. "So that it will not happen again."

Harry snorted. "Uncle Vernon will just tell him to hit me harder next time."

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles. "Now Harry, best not be overdramatic—"

"He isn't being overdramatic." Sirius folded his arms across his chest. "No more than he's exaggerating about his Hogwarts' letter being addressed to a boot cupboard, which you well know. He's not going back there."

Dumbledore had switched his gaze to Sirius again and without looking at Harry now, he said quietly, "Harry, if you will excuse us for a moment?"

Harry didn't move, his eyes fixed to his godfather's clenched jaw.

"Now Harry," Dumbledore's sharp tone snapped Harry out of his staring. Flushing—mostly from anger—he retreated to the kitchen.

Only to the bottom of the short staircase.

"Sirius," Dumbledore said, and Harry had to strain to hear the rest, "I can accept that you thought you were helping him, but as I explained before, Harry must remain at the Dursleys."

"They let their son attack him," Sirius whispered fiercely. "He was concussed."

"I will speak to them—"

"About the boot cupboard too?" Sirius demanded. "And the fact that they don't feed him nearly enough? The clothes they don't buy him? Will you speak to them about all that as well? Or doesn't that matter to you so long as he arrives at school on September first?"

"Sirius, you are being unreasonable, and as you often do, allowing your emotions to get the better of you," Dumbledore said tiredly. "The Dursleys have given Harry a home for fifteen years and despite your dramatics, he has suffered no great harm."

"No great harm?"Sirius echoed, his voice driving up an octave. "I think living a life unloved by the people who should love you the most counts as harmful. The most harmful thing I can think of. Lily and James would be sickened—"

"Lily and James are not here, as you well know—"

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It means nothing more than you wish it to mean," Dumbledore said calmly. "You cannot change the facts, Sirius. Harry belongs in Little Whinging."

Silence stretched on for so long Harry was afraid Sirius had left.

But then he spoke, his voice strained as he tried to keep a whisper, "I have followed you through so many things. Respected you and risked my life just because you asked me to; dozens of times. But this isn't right. You know it isn't."

"What I know," Dumbledore said, "is that it is best for Harry to be with his relatives. Now, if you will excuse me—"

"He isn't yours!"

Harry had never heard his godfather speak so harshly.

"You aren't even his guardian. You haven't any right—"

"I do not mean to be cruel," Dumbledore cut in softly, "but neither do you. You are, in fact, a fugitive, Sirius. And there is nothing you can do."

There was no answer from Sirius and when Dumbledore spoke again, his voice was harder somehow, "Harry will go back to the Dursleys. He will return next summer as well. And the summer after that, until he reaches his majority. And that is an end to the discussion."

"No," Sirius said flatly. "It isn't. Harry is not going back there."

Harry realized he was halfway up the stairs, his back pressed against the wall, his fingers hovering near his wand. What he was going to do with it, he had no idea.

"Please do not make more of a spectacle that has been made already, Sirius," Dumbledore said as Harry came up behind Sirius' shoulder. Sirius' hands were in fists at his sides.

Harry's fingers found his godfather's sleeve. "It's all right, Sirius…"

Sirius didn't move. "Do you intend to Obliviate me, Headmaster?" he asked quietly. "I have no intention of keeping silent about this, even if I am a fugitive. And if you want to take Harry back to the Dursleys, you are going to have to knock me unconscious. I will warn you, however," he said in a voice tilting toward nonchalance, "that this house has several enchantments which do not tolerate acts of aggression against its master."

Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his spectacles; they narrowed just as quickly. "Are you threatening me, Sirius?"

"If necessary."

His breath caught in his chest, Harry watched Dumbledore until the headmaster's face lost some of the stiff tension. He straightened his spectacles. "Very well," he said. "Harry, you may stay here for the remainder of the summer. The rest, however, is not negotiable." He frowned severely at Sirius. "I cannot explain my reasons, but Harry must return to the Dursleys next summer. If it will set your mind at ease, I will employ the members of the Order to keep a closer watch."

Sirius said nothing and Dumbledore nodded, just as if he had agreed. "Molly and Arthur will arrive in two days' time," he added, no trace of the earlier harshness in his tone; professional was the order of the moment. "Remus is on his way back to the continent as well. We will convene here, as was planned."

Sirius nodded this time; curtly. Dumbledore sighed.

"Sirius, I do understand your concerns, and whether or not you believe me, I am doing my best for him." Dumbledore sighed again when Sirius stayed silent. To Harry, he said, "I will see you in two days. Take care of yourself."

For some reason, that made Sirius scowl.

"Thanks," Harry said, finding his voice. The word seemed strange and he actually didn't think Dumbledore deserved to hear it, but it was too late to call it back. Dumbledore gave him a bare smile and left the way he came.

As soon as the door clicked behind him, Sirius took Harry's wrist and turned them both toward the stairs. "Come on," he said. "We're leaving."


	3. Desperation or Madness

"I'll stay outside until you tell them I'm here," Sirius said as he adjusted his pack over Harry's shoulder, shortening the straps for Harry's smaller frame. "We don't want Molly to have heart failure."

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "What if she won't let you in?"

"She will." Sirius steadied him as he tugged sharply on the stubborn left strap. A pause. "Arthur will," he muttered. "He and I did some work for Dumbledore a few weeks ago…. You ready?"

Harry nodded, not wanting to ask again if Sirius was really sure this was necessary. He'd already agreed; even if he couldn't see any real reason to come to the Burrow. The Weasleys couldn't keep him from the Dursleys any more than Sirius could. But Sirius had wanted to come here, so Harry agreed.

With a quick smile, Sirius patted his shoulder and then almost before Harry was prepared for it, Sirius became Padfoot.

"I still can't believe you can do that," Harry said, smiling down at the black dog. Padfoot snuffed out a breath, whether meant to be laughter or impatience, Harry couldn't tell. Until a large nose nudged him pointedly in the ribs. Harry laughed. "All right, let's go."

Padfoot stayed right beside him as they made their way through the weed-choked field toward the crooked house in the distance. When they reached the back door, Padfoot nudged him again; his palm this time and then he slunk behind the row of messy hedges, only his nose sticking out between the leaves. Harry ignored his urge to tell the black dog to stay, straightened Sirius' pack and rapped loudly on the door.

The sounds of running feet greeted him, lots of sets. Loud shouts that sounded like the twins arguing. Ginny's voice ringing over theirs, "Just open it!"

"Ask who it is first!" Mrs. Weasley's shrill voice halted all the rest of the chatter.

"Mu-um!"

"We're seventeen!"

"I don't care! Ask who it is!"

"Bloody…" One of the twins' voices came closer, highly disgruntled. "Who is it?"

Harry shifted. "Er…" Cleared his throat and said uncertainly, "Harry Potter?"

Clamoring; louder than before and the door was flung open. "Harry?"

"Harry?"

Three more echoes greeted him, each more shocked than the first. They were all staring at him as if they'd never seen him before. And then the clustered group of ginger parted down the middle and Mrs. Weasley was gathering him into her embrace. "Oh, Harry…." She was shaking.

Startled, Harry stayed very still. When Mrs. Weasley finally released him, everybody began talking at one.

"We had no idea where you were!"

"…the Dementors…"

"Hedwig came last night!"

"…your face!"

"What are you doing here?"

"…in little Whinging!"

Harry shook his head, trying to take it all in. "Dementors?"

Mrs. Weasley steered Harry toward a chair, her eyes intently scanning his face. But before she could ask how he got a black eye, Mr. Weasley said, "Where have you been?"

"You knew I wasn't at the Dursleys?"

"Of course," Mr. Weasley said, sounding a bit impatient now. "Bill and I were out searching for you all night. Bill is still—"

The rest was cut off as the back door banged opened and Bill burst in, his face haggard, even through his grin. "Harry's all right! He—" He halted abruptly. "Harry?" His eyebrows pulled together. "What are you doing here? Dumbledore said you were at Grimmauld Place—"

"Grimmauld Place!"

"What were you doing there?"

"Did something happen to Sirius?"

"How did you get here?"

"Quiet, all of you." As soon as Mr. Weasley spoke, his family turned to him, all of them falling silent. Clearing his throat softly, he turned his solemn gaze to Harry. Harry felt his face heating, even though Mr. Weasley hadn't yet said anything. "What happened, Harry?" he asked quietly. "Why did you leave the Dursleys?"

Harry didn't really want to explain that he'd been trounced soundly by Dudley and his friends, but Mr. Weasley didn't look like he was going to accept silence as an answer. "Erm… Dudley… my cousin, he hit me a few times—"

" _Hit_ you?"

Mr. Weasley put a hand over his wife's and she too fell silent, her eyes even more worried now. "Go on," Mr. Weasley said, nodding a little.

Harry glanced at Ron, who was scowling—all of them were actually. Feeling a little better, he explained the rest of what had happened.

"Sirius is _here_?" Mrs. Weasley was looking around the room wildly.

"He's outside," Harry explained quickly. "Snuffles is…"

"But why did the two of you come here?" Bill demanded. "Dumbledore said you were staying at Grimmauld Place."

Mr. Weasley's blue eyes were intent now as he gazed at Harry. "Professor Dumbledore doesn't know you're here?"

Harry could feel himself flushing again. "No sir."

"What exactly are you doing here?"

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley scolded, taking Harry's hand and squeezing it, "Harry is always welcome here."

"Yes, of course you are, Harry," Mr. Weasley agreed. "But I don't understand why Sirius brought you here if Dumbledore agreed that you could stay with him at Grimmauld Place."

"He said he needed to speak with you."

"Me?" Mr. Weasley echoed.

"Why does Sirius Black need to speak with Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley demanded, her eyes a bit wild again.

"He didn't kill those Muggles, Mum," Ron said impatiently.

"I know that," she retorted. But even so, she looked no less upset. And Harry was beginning to think this was a very bad idea.

"I don't think Sirius meant to cause any trouble," he said as he pushed himself up. "I can tell him—"

"You'll not tell him anything, Harry," Mr. Weasley said firmly and Harry slowly lowered himself back to his chair. "If Sirius needs to speak to me, then he needs to speak to me. Bill, open the door."

Bill did as he was bid and after a tense moment, Padfoot curled around the frame and the huge black dog was standing in the middle of the kitchen. Mrs. Weasley squeaked. Ron grinned. And Harry let out a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"Good to see you again, Snuffles!"

"Hush, Ron," Mr. Weasley said and then turned to his elder son. "Lock the doors… and the windows." While that was accomplished with a few flicks of Bill's wrist, Mr. Weasley cast several Obscuro Charms. "All right, Sirius," he said quietly.

And with very little fuss, Sirius stood before them.

Mr. Weasley was the first to move. He stuck out a hand. "It's good to see you again, Sirius. Welcome to our home."

"Thank you, Arthur," Sirius said quietly, grasping the other man's hand. "I apologize for bursting in on you."

"Nonsense," Mr. Weasley said, smiling a little. "Harry says you wish to speak with me."

After a quick glance for Harry, Sirius nodded. "You and Molly both, if you have a few moments."

Mrs. Weasley's hand clamped on Harry's shoulder as she moved toward him. "What is this about?"

Sirius jaw tightened briefly but it was with an easy tone that he said, "I would rather speak in private. It's a… delicate matter."

Both of the Weasley parents raised their eyebrows.

Harry sighed. "It's about me," he said, hoping it would expedite matters. "Sirius doesn't want me to go back to the Dursleys."

"But I thought Dumbledore said you could stay at Grimmauld Place," Mr. Weasley said, looking between them.

"You want Harry to stay with us?" Mrs. Weasley asked, looking quite pleased by that idea. Harry sat up straighter. Sirius hadn't said that he'd wanted to leave Harry here. Though Harry hadn't specifically asked that question; he hadn't had time to ask much of anything, Sirius had been in such a hurry.

"If we could speak privately… just for a moment?" Sirius said again, this time sounding strained.

Looking decidedly more cheerful, Mrs. Weasley nodded and led the way into the parlour. A hand settled on Harry's head. He looked up, found Sirius smiling a tiny smile, and Harry relaxed. "See if they have some proper salve for that eye," Sirius muttered before he disappeared into the parlour. The door closed behind them.

"Extendable ears?" George suggested hopefully.

"What?" Harry asked as he shrugged Sirius' pack off his shoulders.

"Device for listening," Fred explained.

Harry shook his head. Even if all of them already knew more about the Dursleys than he cared for them to.

"It's about time someone realized your relatives are cracked," Ron said as he settled in beside Harry. "Did you tell Sirius about the bars on your windows?"

Harry was spared from answering—and imagining Sirius' head imploding if he had mentioned it—as Ginny perched a hip on the table and took the cap off of a huge jar. "Bruise Salve," she announced, jiggling it a little for his inspection. "Close your eye."

Hesitating for just a second, he did, sucking in a short breath as her fingers brushed lightly over the tender skin. She smiled an apology at him, though it seemed to take much longer than it had taken Sirius to do the same thing.

"Feel better?" she asked when she finished.

"Yeah. Thanks."

She smiled and slid off the table. "Do you want anything? Mum just made orange scones."

"No thanks."

"Tea?"

Harry shook his head.

"I'll take a scone," George said.

"Me too," Ron piped up.

"You know where they are," Ginny told them with a little sniff on her way back to the cupboard to put the salve away.

"She's barmy," Fred announced to the world in general as he scooted round the counter and plucked several scones from the basket on the counter.

And as they sat at the table munching scones, the earlier snatches of conversation finally caught up with Harry. "There were Dementors in Little Whinging?"

"Yeah," Ron said around a mouthful; swallowed noisily. "At the same time you disappeared."

"Was anyone hurt?"

"Not that we know of," Bill said.

Harry glanced at the parlour's closed door. "Were they looking for Sirius?"

Bill shook his head. "They would have had no idea he was there. Not unless someone sent them."

Harry didn't say anything as he sat there turning his scone into crumbs.

"He has to be telling them more than just Harry's relatives are arseholes," Fred finally mused; both he and George were staring at the door intently, as if their eyes might be able to burn right through it.

"Yeah mate," George said with a look for Harry, "it's been at least fifteen minutes."

"How long does it take to explain that you'd be better off almost anywhere else?" Ron agreed. "Even Snape would probably feed you."

The twins exchanged looks with their brother; all three shook their heads. "Nah."

"Why does Sirius think our parents would have better luck with Dumbledore than he did?" Bill said, waving his brothers silent, much to Harry's relief.

"Dunno." And before he could speculate on it further, the door opened and Mr. Weasley, looking decidedly unsettled, came out, followed very slowly by Sirius.

"Dad?" Bill questioned as he stood up quickly. "Are you all right?"

Pale-faced, Mr. Weasley nodded. "Make tea for your mother," he said quietly. "I will return in a few hours."

"Where—"

Bill shoved Ron's shoulder—hard—and Ron shut up. Mr. Weasley took no notice. He pulled his cloak from one of the pegs along the wall and went outside. The loud pop of his Disapparation made all of them flinch.

"What happened?" Bill demanded, rounding on Sirius. Sirius, pale himself, only shook his head.

"Tea," he said, hoarsely. He cleared his throat. "For your mother…"

Bill nodded tersely but it was Ginny who said, "I'll make it."

Harry cut between Bill and Sirius. "What's going on?"

Sirius moved toward the window, and Harry went with him. "I'm sorry," he said heavily. "I told them more than you wanted me to; I think I did anyway. They are both extremely upset…"

"It's all right," Harry told him quickly. He had known Sirius would have to tell them something if he wanted their help, though he didn't think the Weasleys should be so upset about Harry having lived in a cupboard. It wasn't as if he was going to have to live in there again. He was much too big now.

"Where did Mr. Weasley go?"

"He had to do something… it's not important." Sirius grimaced and before Harry could press for more information, his godfather went on, "It will be several hours before Arthur gets back. And I really shouldn't be in here. I'll wait outside, as Padfoot and come back—"

"No!" Harry immediately flushed. He was fifteen, for god's sake. But he had an uneasy knot in the pit of his stomach. Something didn't feel right. "I mean, you can stay here… what if someone sees you out there?"

"I'll be a very large dog," Sirius reminded him with a faint smile.

"I know, but—"

"I will be just outside and if you need me—"

"Sirius—"

"Stay."

Harry and Sirius turned. Mrs. Weasley was standing in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself; she had tears in her eyes. "You are more than welcome to stay here with us, Sirius," she said. She came into the kitchen, right up to Harry and rested her hand against his cheek. "Dear child…"

It was a prayer almost; a supplication. And it made all the tiny hairs at the back of Harry's neck prickle.

She hugged him again, without the same strength and Harry got the distinct—and very disconcerting—impression that she was afraid he was going to break in two if she squeezed any harder. She sighed deeply when she stepped back and used the corner of her apron to dab at her eyes. "I will make you something to eat. You'd like something to eat, wouldn't you?"

"Er… Thanks, but Sirius made breakfast…"

Mrs. Weasley smiled at Sirius. "Of course he did." She picked up Sirius' hand, patted it on her way to the kitchen. "I'll make you both tea then." She looked surprised to find Ginny holding a steaming tea kettle. "Ginny dear," she said as she took the hot kettle, "you and the boys go on outside and I will take care of that. Bill, don't you need to get on to work?"

"Thank you very much, Molly," Sirius said as her family stared at her, "but you needn't go to any trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," she assured them. "Sit."

She turned to her task and with her back to them now, Ron leaned in to whisper to Sirius, "You confunded her, didn't you?"

"Shut up, Ron," Ginny hissed.

Harry angled his neck so that he could see his godfather's face—his jaw was tight, but as soon as he noticed Harry's glance, the tense muscles relaxed. He smiled. "We'd best do as she says."

Harry followed Sirius' lead, sitting in the chair beside him while the other Weasley children ignored their mother's instructions and clustered around the table. Mrs. Weasley didn't even seem to notice, bringing tea for all of them; fussing especially over Harry's and Sirius'. Bringing them chocolate biscuits and honey for their tea.

And as they all sat there together, Sirius was very quiet, his eyes faraway. Except when Harry caught his eye. Then he would relax again, and add a few sentences to the conversation.

The tea and biscuits sat in front of him, untouched.

\--

By the time Mrs. Weasley began lunch preparations, Mr. Weasley still wasn't home. Hermione had arrived though, and was now sequestered in Ginny's room. Sirius and Harry were playing chess at the table, while Ron waited to challenge the winner; while providing irritating commentary on Harry's less than stellar performance.

"Honestly, Harry. You let him capture your knight! Anyone would think you'd never played before."

"Easy there," Sirius said as he moved his rook. "That's my godson you're insulting."

While Ron grumbled under his breath, Sirius caught Harry's eye and winked. Harry smiled before going back to studying his pieces, trying to figure how to salvage the game. Just as he was about to move his bishop, the Floo roared in the parlour. Mr. Weasley stepped out, shaking soot from his robes. He looked up and Harry wasn't certain if he looked paler than he had this morning or if it was simply a trick of the low light.

"Be right back," Sirius murmured. He pushed back his chair, nudged Harry's head with his knuckles as he passed behind and said with a faint smirk, "Don't let Ron touch my pieces."

"Hey, I don't cheat!"

"Hush," Mrs. Weasley scolded as she followed after Sirius, and the three adults were once again ensconced in the parlour.

A few minutes later, Fred and George appeared from the stairwell. "Heard the Floo."

"Are they at it again?"

Harry didn't answer but that didn't faze either of the twins. George held up a something—flesh-colored and shaped like an ear. "We came prepared this time."

"I don't think—"

"Then let us think," Fred interrupted Harry's protest.

"Don't you want to know what they're talking about?" George demanded, already sliding the ear toward the door while he and his brother hovered by the stairs.

Harry shrugged.

"Come up here," Fred said, gesturing for Harry and Ron to move away from the table and onto the fifth step, which Harry finally did with a sigh. All four of them bent their heads toward the string as the ear disappeared underneath the door.

"Speak up," George muttered, but all they could hear were whispers… a few snatched words here and there.

"Partition?" Ron whispered. "What does that mean?"

George clouted the side of his head. "Petition," he hissed. "And something about a bottom…"

"If that wasn't our parents in there, I'd be intrigued," Fred said with a grin.

"Disgusted is more like," his brother added with an exaggerated shudder.

"Would you two quit being idiots," Harry whispered. "They're saying something about me."

The Floo—muffled now—roared. And there seemed to be only two voices now.

"You…" Fred pulled the string closer to his ear; nearly stuffed it inside. "…yeah, and… what did Mum just say?"

There was a loud squelching sound and Fred yelped. Beside him, George jerked back, stumbled over Ron and all four of them ended up in a tangle of limbs at the bottom of the stairs.

"Bloody…"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence, young man."

Harry stopped trying to yank his legs from under Ron and looked up. Sirius and Ron's mum were frowning down at them. The Extendable Ear was squashed in Mrs. Weasley's hand.

"All three of you get up!" she snapped, her voice less shrill than it normally would be in such a situation, but somehow it didn't make her children move any less swiftly. They leapt off the floor like they were on fire and Harry was nearly trampled in the mad scramble. "Get upstairs," she commanded, her arms waving them on their way as she stomped up after them. "Eavesdropping! How many times have I warned you!"

Raising both eyebrows, Sirius offered Harry a hand, which he took with a grimace, his face burning with embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled as he brushed off his seat.

"Did you hurt yourself?" Sirius asked, looking Harry over. Several of yesterday's injuries were protesting the mishap, but not enough to bother with. Sirius pursed his lips when Harry shook his head. "Here," he said, pulling a chair out, "sit down."

Sirius sat so that they were facing and leaned forward a little, his elbows perched on his knees and his fingers loosely woven. "Arthur is helping me get some things in order… things," he added when Harry would have interrupted, "which I can't explain yet. We are going to make certain that you don't ever have to go back to the Dursleys. But I need you to trust me. To do this in my own way. Can you do that?"

Startled by the question, Harry frowned. "I do trust you."

Just as if Harry had lit a torch, Sirius' face transformed. The grey eyes lit up from inside and the deep lines lightened. He smiled, the expression making Harry smile as well. "Good," Sirius said. With both hands, he gripped Harry's shoulders.

"Good," he said again, with more conviction this time. And then Harry stilled as his godfather kissed the top of his head. "Come on," he said as he straightened, "let's finish our game before Molly's finished with Ron."

It was Harry's second absolutely stupid smile of the day, but this time he didn't much care.

\--

"Think he'll be cold?" Harry asked, later that night as he peeled off his socks.

Ron looked up, already in his pajamas and settling under his quilt. "Who?"

"Sirius, you git."

"Oh." Ron shrugged. "He's a dog, he's got fur."

"He's sleeping in the bushes."

"It's summer," Ron said through a wide yawn. Harry nodded, mostly to himself as he buttoned his pajama top and then turned the lamp down and got into bed. He knew that Sirius had slept outside before. And of course, if he got cold, he could always sleep in Mr. Weasley's shed.

People shouldn't have to sleep in sheds.

Especially not Sirius.

Knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep with that niggling at him, Harry shoved his blankets aside and slipped out of bed. He stumbled over Ron's trainers and thumped against the other boy's bed.

"What are you doing?" Ron groused, sitting up a little.

Feeling around for his glasses, Harry mumbled, "Gonna bring a blanket to Sirius."

"He doesn't need a blanket."

"He might. Aha!" Harry breathed with jubilance as he retrieved his spectacles from Ron's bedside table. "And anyway, I can't sleep until I make sure."

Groaning, Ron sat up fully and turned the lamp back up. "Mum told us to go to sleep hours ago." They'd read Quidditch Magazines instead. And some other magazines that Ron's mum definitely would not have approved of.

"I know, but I won't wake them up," Harry said as he tugged his trainers on. "Think they're asleep?" He swiped the top blanket from his camp bed.

"How the hell should I know? Harry… Oy. At least let me get something on my feet."

Harry paused at the door, the blanket wadded in his arms. "You don't have to come—"

"What? I'm going to let you wander outside by yourself?" Ron threw a sock at him. Harry made a face as he plucked it gingerly off his head. Ron grinned and sidled up behind him. "The third step squeaks so you have to sort of jump over it," he said quietly, making an awkward diving motion with his hands.

Harry eyed him doubtfully over his shoulder. "And that won't wake anyone up?"

"Not if you're in your stocking feet."

"I'm not!"

"Keep it down," Ron hissed in his ear as they slipped out the door. "Blimey, we've snuck out of the dorm a million times."

"Why don't you say _that_ a little louder."

"Why don't you shut your yap and walk down the damn stairs."

Harry rolled his eyes, but crept forward, keeping close to the wall. "Why are you coming, exactly?"

Ron jabbed a finger in his back. "To keep you company."

Harry smiled in the darkness as they went down the stairs.

"Third step," Ron whispered when they were near the bottom, poking him again.

"Jump over it?"

"Unless you want to get your broom…"

"Shut up."

"You shut up. Jump already."

Simultaneously grimacing and holding his breath, Harry jumped. He landed with a muffled plop on the kitchen floor. Ron landed right beside him, and somehow didn't make a sound.

"Why didn't we just step over that one and onto the next?" Harry asked as they tiptoed to the back door.

"We always jump over it," Ron said, sounding surprised. Harry shook his head. They stepped out in to the yard a second later.

"I don't see him," Harry said after he'd peered into the bushes.

"Why is it so bloody cold?" Ron complained as he gave his arms a brisk rub. "It's summer."

"It's after midnight… and I told you it would be cold. Snuffles!"

"Not so loud! You'll wake the entire house."

Harry ignored him, cupped his mouth again and called softly, "Snuffles!"

Ron swatted his shoulder. "There's a light coming from Dad's shed… think he went in there?"

Harry followed the line of Ron's index finger. "Come on."

Ron sighed but he fell in step beside Harry anyway. "Should have worn a jumper."

"It's not that cold."

"Then why are we out here in our pajamas, bringing Sirius a blanket?" Ron retorted.

"Shut it."

"No, you—"

Harry clamped a hand around Ron's arm. "Shh!"

What? Ron mouthed and then froze as he too heard the quiet voices. "Oy," he whispered, "if that's Mum, I'm dead."

"Sounds like a man…"

"Because," Sirius' voice floated out, suddenly louder than just a moment ago and Harry was surprised at the intensity of his voice. "I haven't any other choice."

"Don't be ridiculous! He wouldn't want you to do this!"

Harry and Ron glanced at one another. It sounded like Professor Lupin. Though Harry hadn't heard his voice for over a year and never this angry—

"I know, but I can't—"

"Of all the stupid things you've ever done, Sirius… This is asinine!"

The door was flung open, nearly covering Sirius' hoarse, "Remus…"

And then both men froze. Lupin recovered first with a soft, "Hello, Harry." He cleared his throat. "Ron."

Harry shifted, hoping he didn't look quite as mortified as he felt to have overheard them in the middle of an argument. "Hello Professor…"

"What are you two doing out here?" Sirius asked, his voice still scratchy.

Feeling rather foolish, Harry held out the blanket. "Thought you might be cold."

Sirius' eyes smiled as he took the offering. "Thank you, Harry," he said quietly. He gestured vaguely to the air around them. "I shouldn't be out in the open. And if Molly finds you out of bed at this hour…" He smiled slightly.

"Yeah." Harry wrapped his arms around himself.

Sirius' mouth pressed together, and for just a second it looked like he was going to say something. But instead, he nodded his head toward the house. "Go on," he said softly.

But as soon as Harry turned, the back door opened. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, both with messily-draped dressing gowns, hurried out. A woman that Harry didn't recognize followed at a more sedate pace.

At the sight of an intruder, panic seized Harry's chest, but before he could give into it, Mr. Weasley rushed forward, almost knocking Harry aside. "Sirius, Augusta brought the papers. They have guaranteed your safety."

Ron nudged Harry. "Isn't that Neville's Gran?"

Harry didn't answer. He didn't care. His eyes were fixed to Sirius. "What's going on?"

Mr. Weasley turned around, his eyebrows high on his forehead. "Harry, what are you doing out here? Ron?"

The woman with the Weasleys stuck her hand out to Sirius. He swallowed, pulled his gaze from Harry and shook her hand. "Augusta Longbottom," she said crisply. She handed him a thick piece of parchment. "The Wizengamot has guaranteed your safe passage into the Ministry. And has agreed to hear your case in the morning, since you were denied a trial in 1981. Madame Bones is awaiting your arrival."

A trial? There was some sort of buzzing in Harry's ears. He hadn't heard her properly. Or he was dreaming. A nightmare. "Sirius?" His voice was high-pitched and strange, as if it didn't even belong to him.

"We haven't much time," Mrs. Longbottom said impatiently. "I am to produce you within one hour or the guarantee is no longer valid."

A rushing, howling wind. "Sirius?"

Sirius was standing in front of him then. His solid grip a painful reminder that this wasn't a nightmare. "Harry," he said, the syllables unnatural and warbling, "I asked Arthur to find me an advocate. So that I can have a trial. I'll always be a fugitive, just as Dumbledore said and I have no legal rights when it comes to you. None at all—"

"No," Harry said dumbly, his head so muddled and sluggish he nearly couldn't even manage the one syllable.

"There isn't another way. Not if we want to keep you from going back to the Dursleys—"

"No!" Harry said furiously as he ripped himself away. "No! I don't care. I'll go back to the Dursleys. I'll let them do whatever they want. Uncle Vernon can cane me, like he always wants to, I don't care!"

"Harry—"

"You can't do this," Harry said loudly, jerking himself out of Sirius' reach as his godfather stepped close. "They already didn't believe you once! As soon as they see you, they'll kill you!"

"They will not," Mrs. Longbottom said evenly. "Do try to calm yourself. Madame Bones has agreed to a fair trial."

Harry heard frenzied laughter—only realizing in a moment of madness that it was his own. "Fair?" he echoed. "Fair? They sent you to prison for something you didn't do!"

"And it is far past time to correct that error," she said.

"No." Harry shook his head, kept shaking it. "You can't do this, Sirius." He dug his fingernails into his palm, steadied his voice. "Please don't do this."

"Harry, I have no other choice," Sirius said softly. "I should have done this years ago." He stepped toward Harry again but this time, Harry turned his back. He wouldn't agree. He wouldn't look. If he didn't look, it couldn't be true.

Sirius can't leave.

He can't leave if I don't look. He won't.

"Harry… please."

Harry closed his eyes. He wouldn't listen. None of this was true. It was a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare.

"I have to go," Sirius whispered; in front of him now "Harry, I promise you that it will be all right."

Trust him. Sirius had said to trust him.

For this?

There was no promise.

Arms wrapped around him. Strong arms that were trembling. Fingers wove through his hair and Sirius' next words were breathed into his scalp, "I will be back."

Harry didn't move. Tried not to breathe. He won't leave. He can't leave.

The arms slipped away. Harry's breath hitched. Footsteps that Harry refused to hear. Another hitching breath.

"Let's go…"

Silence. Not a sound.

He didn't leave.

Harry turned. "Sirius…" The word caught in his burning throat as he watched the blurry pillars of color fade way.

Gone.

Sirius was gone.

So Harry did the only thing he could do.

He ran.

Stumbling over his shoelaces and over rocks, he ran. Blindly through the darkness, his feet pounded, drowning out everything else.

Voices called his name, but he barely heard them. He ran faster.

And he kept running until he couldn't. Until his legs gave out and he collapsed onto the ground. And then he lay there, gasping for breath.

He felt hands on his shoulder—another in his hair, but he didn't want them there. Didn't acknowledge them as each rasping, gulping breath set fire to his lungs. He turned his face into the grass and let the tears come.


	4. Once Upon a Time

Harry didn't want to move.

No matter how many times his friends tried to tell him he should to go inside. He'd rather stay here, his cheek pressed to the cold blades of grass. Hermione's hand continued to stroke his hair; he'd finally realized it was hers when she'd begun speaking in a soft voice, trying to soothe him.

Ron was there as well; Harry had been staring at his best mate's unlaced trainers for a long time now.

He'd heard Mr. Weasley at some point, but if he was still there, he had long since gone silent.

Everything hurt. Every single muscle. Even his eyelids were throbbing. But even worse than all that, it hurt inside—deep down in a way that Harry couldn't have described.

It hurt more than the day he'd realized that his aunt and uncle didn't love him. More than all those times he'd wished he had parents like everyone else. Even more than the thought of Cedric's vacant eyes.

Sirius was gone.

And for all Harry knew, he was already dead. Killed on sight, just like they'd wanted to do to him last year. The thought brought a fresh wave of pain and Harry suddenly couldn't breathe.

"Harry…" Hermione's worried voice was very close to his ear. He closed his eyes, dug his fingers into the soft earth and tried to make it all go away.

"Harry." A low voice, much deeper than Ron's. And a large hand on his shoulder, shaking it a little. "Harry, open your eyes."

_I don't want to._

But he did it anyway. Mr. Weasley was gripping his shoulder so tightly it hurt. "He's safe, Harry. Sirius is safe."

Harry struggled to understand that. Mr. Weasley leaned in. "He's at the Ministry—under guard but he's perfectly safe. Mrs. Longbottom just sent word. It's all right," Mr. Weasley continued in that same quiet voice. "Everything is going to be all right." And then he shifted away and Harry was glad, but only for a second until Mr. Weasley said gruffly, "Ron, give me a hand."

"Harry, I need you to sit up," he said in a firm voice when he was facing Harry again. "And then we need to take you back into the house."

Harry let himself be pulled up. Hermione took his hand as soon as he was standing. Someone else took the other one; he turned his head and found Ginny beside him.

"Come on, mate," Ron said in a strangely soft voice. Ginny tugged him forward, and very slowly, they made their way back to the crooked house. The twins and Mrs. Weasley were waiting. She immediately draped a large quilt around Harry's shoulders, murmuring nonsensical words and ushering Harry inside, where she promptly sat him down on one of the sofas in the parlour and cupped his hands around a giant mug of peppermint tea.

No one spoke for a long time. Not until a raspy voice broke the silence, "How could you have agreed to help him?"

Harry hadn't even noticed Professor Lupin. He was sitting in a chair farthest from them, swathed in shadows, his face in his hands.

"Because," Mr. Weasley said, "Harry needs him."

Lupin looked up. "He won't be able to help Harry if they send him back to Azkaban. Or," he said in a voice threatening to break, "if they hand him over to the Dementors."

Tea sloshed over the side of Harry's mug as his hands began to shake. "You said..." He couldn't finish. Mrs. Weasley curled an arm around Harry's shoulders.

"He hasn't been given to the Dementors," Mr. Weasley said, keeping Harry's eye steadily. "He is going to have a trial."

"And if they find him guilty?" Lupin demanded, turning everyone's attention. Harry could see his hands trembling. Lupin clasped them tightly together. "If Dumbledore had known what Sirius meant to do—"

"Dumbledore allowed Harry to live in a cupboard for ten years!"

Harry flinched at Mrs. Weasley's sharp words.

Lupin closed his eyes. "I know," he said on a ragged breath. The pain in his old professor's voice made his own pain spiral almost out of control. Harry clenched his teeth together as hard as he could.

"Harry, drink your tea," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "You're nearly frozen."

Harry set the mug down with one quick jerky movement. "Can they?" he asked, not caring that his voice was thick with tears. "Set the Dementors on him if he doesn't win?"

The silence was answer enough. Leaning over his knees, his dug his fingertips into his eyes, his head spinning as stars dotted his vision. "Why?" he croaked. "Why would he do this?"

"There was no other way," Mrs. Weasley said as she brushed her hand over and over his hair. "He loves you too much to leave you with those people. All of us do, Harry."

Harry could only shake his head.

Why didn't they understand? He didn't even sleep in the stupid boot cupboard any longer. And he'd always managed to find himself enough food, hadn't he? And even if Uncle Vernon had tried to strangle him—and just because they didn't care if Dudley broke every damn bone in his body, it didn't matter.

"He didn't even ask me," he said into his palms. "I would have told him that I was all right with them." His voice broke. "He didn't have to do this."

"You were not all right with them," Hermione finally spoke, her voice quavery as she came to kneel in front of him. Harry stared at her hand as she put it on his knee and tried to blink back the tears that wouldn't be still.

"I was," he breathed as a tear slid down the side of his nose. He swiped it away.

"They don't even feed you," Ron said from somewhere above them.

"Harry, dear, please try to understand—"

But it was all of them that didn't understand. He would have gladly gone without food, would have willingly stuffed himself back into that cupboard to keep Sirius away from Azkaban.

Or worse.

Harry stood abruptly, had to fight with the heavy quilt before it slumped from his shoulders, and then he turned toward the door, half-blind from the hot tears he didn't want anyone to see.

Someone caught his shoulder. "Harry…"

"Just please," Harry whispered as he propped a hand on the doorjamb. "Please just leave me alone."

Mr. Weasley's hand fell slowly from his shoulder, and no one else said anything; no one tried to stop him again. Feeling like he was suffocating, Harry stumbled through the kitchen and into the backyard, not stopping until he reached the little stone wall that marked the end of the garden. His backside protested as he dropped heavily and drew his knees up; shivering in the crisp air, no matter how tightly he hugged his legs to him.

He hadn't said goodbye.

He'd stood there, like some stupid three-year old, refusing to speak. Refusing to return his godfather's hug.

He'd just let Sirius go. Without a word.

Harry pressed his forehead to his knees, listening to the winding howling.

It wasn't very long before footsteps approached. Two bodies sat beside him, and he knew without having to look that it was Ron and Hermione. Neither one touched him, neither spoke. They simply sat, waiting with him.

\--

The summons arrived as the sun was painting the horizon orange. Harry knew because he was still awake, sitting in the same place when the large brown owl glided over the shed. Mrs. Weasley had finally coaxed all of them inside—Harry, only when he'd realized his friends were falling asleep where they sat; and that Mrs. Weasley would never go inside if they didn't.

He had stayed in bed for a long time, listening to Ron's rhythmic snores. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw Dementors. And Sirius' sunken eyes. It was easier out here.

And even though he saw the owl, he couldn't muster enough interest in its mission; or the contents of the thick envelope in its beak. He went back to staring at the sunrise.

He heard the back door creak open after awhile, watched Lupin emerge and pause as he met Harry's eyes. But then with a sigh that heaved his entire upper body, Lupin walked over and sat on the low garden wall.

"You should have told someone you were coming out here." When Harry didn't answer, Lupin added in a quiet voice, "You caused a small panic a few minutes ago."

Harry knew he should feel badly for that, but he didn't. There wasn't room enough to feel anything else. So he watched the orange stretch across the sky and said nothing.

Lupin cleared his throat. "An owl arrived a few minutes ago. Did you see it?"

Harry nodded.

"We've been summoned to the ministry," Lupin said in that same odd tone. "Hermione and Ron as well; to testify that we saw Peter Pettigrew last year."

Harry closed his eyes, his chest filling with a painful relief he couldn't allow himself. "Will Sirius be there?" He had to see Sirius, had been formulating a way to ask them to let him go—or a way to get there himself if they refused.

"It won't be a trial in the traditional sense," Lupin answered, in a way that made Harry think someone was squeezing his throat. "Mrs. Longbottom is trying to make a plea for wrongful imprisonment to a group of seven members of the Wizengamot; is essentially accusing them of wrongdoing. Seven is a very important number in wizarding tradition." A slow breath interrupted his rambling and then he said very softy, "I don't know if Sirius will be there."

And as if it had never been there, the relief was torn from Harry's chest, leaving him empty.

"We need to—" Lupin's voice dipped and Harry was very glad he was still watching the gold and pink bleed into orange instead of his face. "We are to be there early this evening."

Harry nodded.

"Harry, I…" Harry drew his knees farther into his chest, but Lupin continued on anyway, "I'm very sorry if I seemed unsympathetic to your plight—"

"It isn't a plight."

"No," Lupin said after a moment. "I know you could stay with the Dursleys, if you had to. Sirius knows that as well."

Harry pressed his lips together, trying desperately not to let the tears free again. He didn't want to talk about this. Not about the Dursleys and not about Sirius.

"But even though you could, he doesn't want you to, Harry. You have no idea how much he worries about you—"

"He shouldn't," Harry said through his teeth, the only way to still the rising throb in his throat.

"He can't help it."

Harry's head jerked up. "Well, he should have tried," he said, the words not a shout only because he hadn't enough breath. Remus' face was pale, his eyes shadowed and rimmed in red and it did nothing to help the hollow feeling.

"Harry," he said in a tight whisper, "I don't want to lose Sirius—I can't bear to lose him, but I also know that there is nothing in this world that he loves more than you. You are his family, and that means there is no other option. None."

Harry could only shake his head, wanting to both bawl and scream in answer. Lupin's words only made everything worse. Sirius was the only family he had, which meant that now, Harry had nothing.

He turned away from Lupin's haunted eyes.

"Harry… I'm sorry you were alone all those years. All of us... me especially," he said as his voice caught, "should have done something—"

Harry shook his head fervently, his gaze fixed to his hands now. "You don't have to do this, Professor. I'm fine."

"Remus," Lupin said, so softly that Harry barely heard him. And he didn't know how to respond to the invitation.

Lupin took a shaky breath, and Harry braced himself for more. But all he said was, "Mrs. Weasley would like to make you breakfast."

There was no way the tangled knot that had replaced his stomach was going to be cooperative, but Harry uncurled himself anyway. He and Lupin walked back to the house in silence.

Mrs. Weasley looked him over as soon he stepped through the door, her eyes as tired as Lupin's. Mr. Weasley didn't look any better. Knowing he owed them something, he took the seat Mrs. Weasley pulled out for him and said, "I'm sorry I worried you."

"It's all right," Mrs. Weasley said quickly. She smoothed his hair several times.

"We understand that you needed to be alone," Mr. Weasley added as he sat across from Harry. "We are all here to talk, if you need to… I hope you know that."

Harry nodded, not trusting his voice.

"I know you probably don't feel like eating," Mrs. Weasley said as she moved back to the stove, "but you'll need your strength. I'll make you some tea and toast. Remus, you sit down as well. You can talk while you eat."

Talk? Harry eyed both men warily, not wanting another conversation like the one he'd just had outside.

"The Council of Seven," Mr. Weasley said without preamble, "will question you until they are satisfied with your answers. Mrs. Longbottom does not believe that any of them will make allowances for you. They may be quite vicious." He said that part tentatively, but Harry wasn't put off. Even had he not been so immune to vicious people, he didn't care what they did so long as he could help Sirius.

"What about other evidence?" he asked, and then didn't like the way Lupin and Mr. Weasley shared a glance. He slid his fingers over the pitted wood, drawing them into fists. "I need to know."

"There are two Death Eaters who expressed a willingness to offer testimony in exchange for an early release from Azkaban," Mr. Weasley said slowly.

"One of them received Voldemort's Mark on the same night as Peter," Lupin elaborated, nodding his head at Mrs. Weasley as she set a plate of food in front of him. Harry ignored his own plate. "And the other claims to have been there when Peter…" His hands were shaking again, but he went on anyway, "… told Voldemort the location of your parents' house."

Harry couldn't still the hope this time and his muscles protested as his spine jerked. "But then they'll have to realize Sirius isn't guilty!"

But Mr. Weasley was shaking his head. "The Council hasn't agreed to hear their testimony. And the only thing it proves is that Sirius didn't betray your parents. It does not prove that he didn't kill Peter in revenge."

"But… the thirteen Muggles…"

"They could have been innocent victims during a duel between Sirius and Pettigrew."

Harry stared at him.

Mr. Weasley sighed, his face heavily lined as he leaned forward. "This is how the questioning will most likely proceed," he said. "The inquisitors have to examine every detail. I want you to be prepared when they dispute everything you say. Because they will."

Numb all over, Harry faltered, "But... there has to be other evidence."

"Mrs. Longbottom is having the ministry building searched for Sirius' wand," Mr. Weasley said while Harry watched him twist his tea cup, like some sort of nervous twitch. "Aurors, when they arrest someone, typically keep a prisoner's possessions."

Harry wished he didn't have to listen to this, wished he could snuff out that tiny spark of hope. "To find out which spell Sirius cast last?" he asked.

"Prior Incantato," Lupin murmured.

"But if they find it—"

"There is no guarantee they will," Mr. Weasley interrupted gently.

No guarantees. No promises.

"What about a Pensieve?" Harry asked flatly, the spark completely tamped out.

Both men's eyebrows rose in surprise, but it was Mr. Weasley who asked, "How do you know of Pensieves?"

Harry flattened his palms on the table, answering impatiently, "I used one in Dumbledore's office." It seemed there was just an ember of hope after all. Stupid, but Harry couldn't help it. "They'll believe that, won't they?"

"Memories can be tampered with, though it is rather difficult to accomplish."

"It's up to the Council to decide if a pensieved memory would be allowed," Lupin added on a heavy sigh.

Harry shoved his plate away as anger suddenly seethed over everything else he was feeling. "So, then there's almost no way for him to win."

It was silent in the kitchen. Even Mrs. Weasley's soft shuffling in the background ceased.

He stared at his knuckles as they stretched his skin taut. "Wormtail was in the graveyard," he said to no one in particular. "I could have tried to bring him with me. But Cedric…" He didn't go on; there was no point.

There was no point to any of this.

A freckled hand settled over one of his fists. "Harry, Mrs. Longbottom will do everything she can."

And if it's not enough? Harry wanted to say it; couldn't bear to say it. "I want to see him…"

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat. "I don't know if they will allow it."

Harry tried to pull his hand away, but Mr. Weasley closed his fingers around Harry's wrist and Harry's brought his sore eyes up. "You don't understand—"

"I do," Mr. Weasley said, and Harry found it difficult to disbelieve him; and even more difficult to look away. "I understand what you want, Harry, but I need you to think before you do or say anything that will make it harder. For Sirius," he emphasized softly. "Or for the Council to find you anything less than the mature young man that I know you to be."

Harry mashed his lips together, swallowed down the strangled noise that wanted to escape and nodded with a tight jerk of his head. He could do that. For Sirius, he could.

\--

It was after lunch when Harry and the others stepped into the Ministry of Magic together. They were met by a frowning, brown-haired witch who escorted them to an unmarked door on one of the lower levels. She indicated the chairs on either side. "You will be called when you are required," she said, adding nothing before or after.

"Thank you, Calista," Mr. Weasley said anyway. Calista gave a curt nod and then went back down the corridor, her trailing cerulean robes swishing against the marble floor

"Here, Harry," Hermione said, indicating the seat beside hers, but Harry shook his head and jammed his hands into pockets, wanting nothing more than to crash through the sedate wooden door along the opposite wall and demand to see Sirius.

Lupin was the only other one who didn't sit.

"Who do you think they'll take first?" Ron whispered. He was shifting in his chair, finally tucking his hands under his thighs to quiet his anxious movements.

"There is no way to know," Mr. Weasley murmured in a low voice that still echoed off the carved walls. "Try not to fret; if you need to stop, tell Madame Bones and I'll be right here if you need me—any of you," he added with a pointed look in Harry's direction.

"Augusta will be at hand?" Lupin spoke for the first time since they'd begun getting ready at the Burrow.

"Yes."

Lupin nodded and turned away. Harry watched him clip down the corridor; he turned sharply when he reached the next door, came back and then walked the same circuit again. Harry hugged his arms around his middle, unable to watch.

And just when he began a silent chant for the door to open, it obliged. Harry immediately let his arms fall back to his sides, his feet poised to spring.

A wizard who didn't look much older than Harry peered out into the corridor, his blond eyebrows furrowed. But then his eyes found Harry and he smiled very slightly. "Harry Potter?"

It was hard to speak with his throat suddenly dry, but Harry managed a scratchy, "Yeah."

The blond stepped out into the corridor. "Duncan Inglebee," he greeted with a hand stuck out. "We played Quidditch two years ago—Beater for Ravenclaw."

Harry took his hand, nodding though the memory was vague.

"You were quite good," Inglebee said. "And oh, you're first." He waved toward the open door. "After you."

It was more difficult to step forward than it should have been. Feeling like his feet were made of the same stone as the floors, Harry kept his eyes forward, away from the stares he could feel from his companions and went through the doorway.

And into another corridor, this one dark and fairly pulsing with magic. He could see light just ahead, the short corridor spilling into a room, ringed in a high wall.

It was a huge room, with a high ceiling and whispered echoes.

A room for seven people, it was not.

But Harry didn't care how many people were in that room. Adrenaline propelled him as his heart began to a beat a mean staccato against his ribs. Beyond the forbidding wall and into the most bizarrely shaped room he had ever seen. And from inside here, it didn't look big at all.

It was small. With seven chairs behind seven desks , in a strange configuration, all of the desks connected by a white line against the floor. One witch or wizard sat at each desk, all of them watching Harry walk toward them.

Mrs. Longbottom, standing on a raised dais near the opposite wall, had her back to him. One of the two Aurors flanking her said something close to her ear and she turned. A grim smile in Harry's direction and then she stepped to the left.

Harry froze in mid-step.

Sirius.

He was sitting in a wooden chair, his head bowed. But all Harry could focus on were the chains binding his godfather's hands and feet.

"If you'll step into the middle of the heptagram, Harry," Inglebee said from behind. His voice echoed round the cavernous room, loud in the silence and Sirius' head jerked up.

"Harry?" The whisper filled the room as well, but Sirius didn't seem to notice. He struggled briefly, as if he meant to stand, but the Auror to his right kept a hand on his shoulder. Sirius' exhausted grey eyes stayed locked with Harry's. His face was drawn and pale, anxiety etched in every line. He tried to smile, obviously meant to ease Harry's tension, but it didn't work at all.

"Mr. Inglebee," a deep voice broke in, "escort Mr. Potter into the heptagram if you would."

Inglebee stepped in front of Harry, blocking his view of Sirius and gesturing for him to continue forward.

Torn, Harry followed the path indicated, finding Sirius' eyes again as soon as Inglebee was out of the way. He sucked in a sharp breath as he crossed over the white line connecting two of the desks. It was as if he'd been shocked; his skin tingled and all the hairs up and down his arms prickled.

"It is called a heptagram," the deep voice intoned, which Harry could see now, belonged to a square-jawed witch with grey hair cut close to her head. She adjusted the monocle over one of her eyes and explained, "Each of us sits at one of its seven points. It is an exceptionally powerful magical configuration, which is what you felt as you stepped over its boundary. While we remain at its points, the inquisitors share a link which cannot be broken, one which you will not be able to escape until we permit it. We are here," she said, gesturing around the heptagram, "to determine whether Sirius Black was unfairly imprisoned. Do you intend to assist us in our determination?"

Feeling like it was some sort of ritual question, Harry nodded quickly. "Yes ma'am."

She inclined her head. "Then we invite you to sit."

A chair appeared where before there had been only floor. As soon as Harry sat, he felt another nearly overwhelming sting of magic and stiffened. Before he could react to it the chair turned so that he was facing the witch with grey hair. She said formally, "I am Madame Bones. Please state your name."

He could no longer see Sirius. He had to force himself not to twist around as he slid slick palms against his newly pressed trousers—Sirius' trousers. He hadn't wanted to trade them for a pair of Ron's. "Harry James Potter."

"Mr. Potter," another voice said and Harry's chair was swiveling again. To face a wizard this time—a wizard with a short black beard and enormous glasses. Sirius' dais was just behind him. "I am Master Roggins. Do you recognize the man on the dais?" the bespectacled wizard asked.

"He's my godfather," Harry answered quietly, his eyes once again on Sirius. His muscles knotted painfully when Sirius' smiled that tiny smile again.

"Have you ever seen him before today?"

"Yes."

"When?"

Harry turned his eyes back to Roggins, who was simply waiting patiently for Harry to answer. "I met him last year. The same day I met Peter Pettigrew."

There was no surprise rippling around the heptagram. None in Roggins' eyes.

"Where were you when you met Mr. Black?" he asked calmly.

"They were both in the Shrieking Shack," Harry answered, a bit sharply but Roggins didn't seem to notice.

"What were you doing in the Shrieking Shack?" a crackly voice asked. Harry's chair shifted to face a white haired witch who looked even older than Dumbledore.

And on and on the questioning went, with Harry only answering as much as was necessary, leaving out most of the details of that night beneath the full moon.

"And you expect us to believe this fantastical tale?" a tall wizard demanded after he had described Pettigrew's escape, his regal nose lifted in disdain.

"Why would I lie?" Harry snapped, very near an explosion. "If I thought that Sirius was responsible for my parents' deaths, do you really think I would want him to be free?"

The tall wizard raised dark eyebrows. "You make an excellent point, Mr. Potter," he conceded with a nod. "But the more interesting point—" He leaned forward, a sudden gleam in his blue eyes. "—is _why,/i > do you want Sirius Black to be free?"_

Harry stared at him, surprised at both the concession and the question. "Because he's innocent," he said, swallowing as he turned to look at Sirius. Sirius's hands were clasped together on his lap, and Harry could clearly see the muscles straining in his neck and jaw. "And because he's my godfather," he said quietly as he turned back to the inquisitor.

"Are you aware that Sirius Black is named as your guardian in the event of your parents' deaths?"

Harry's chair rotated again. "Yes," he said impatiently to the woman with wild hair and half a finger missing from her right hand. What was the point of that question?

"And you realize that he would be granted custody if he was freed?" she asked primly.

"Yes ma'am."

"Hm."

And then Harry was once again facing Roggins, given no time to figure out the meaning of the delicate grunt. "You were raised by Muggles, were you not?"

Harry squinted at him, couldn't figure out his game. "Yeah…"

"And these Muggles kept you in a cupboard, did they not?"

Harry's lips parted with surprise but Roggins didn't let him answer.

"They starved you, yes? Did they beat you as well?"

"This has nothing to do with me!"

Harry swung his neck around, even more shocked at his godfather's outburst. Sirius was standing now, his guards restraining his arms, but Sirius made no move toward the heptagram. The Aurors pushed him down roughly anyway.

"None of this is relevant," he said hoarsely, directing his words at Mrs. Longbottom. He lifted a shaking hand toward the inquisitors and his chains chinked loudly together. "Harry didn't come here to answer questions about his relatives. And I won't have him—"

"Mr. Black," Roggins said in an imperious voice, "you are in no position to question us."

"Mr. Black is correct though, Master Roggins," Mrs. Longbottom said, holding out a hand to Sirius' shoulder. "Harry's childhood is irrelevant."

"Is it?" Roggins asked in a low tone. "One might hypothesize that Harry Potter, a boy with a tragic past, has become so desperate for a family that he is willing to accept even a known murderer—"

"That isn't true!" Harry sputtered.

"Which part, Mr. Potter?"

"All of it!" He tried to stand, but a crackle of magic burst through the chair's seat and kept him firmly in place. "Sirius didn't kill those people. And I saw Peter Pettigrew with my own eyes! So did Ron and Hermione. And Professor Lupin—"

"A werewolf," the tall wizard with the supercilious nose interjected from the desk closest to Roggins. "And three children."

Harry gripped the arms of his chair. "It doesn't even make any sense! Sirius wouldn't kill Muggles!"

"Revenge rarely makes sense," Roggins said quietly. "Have you ever thought about seeking revenge against your relatives?"

"Augusta," Sirius hissed as Harry gaped at the inquisitor.

"Master Roggins, I really must object—"

"Do you object to the question, Mr. Potter?" Roggins asked.

Harry set his jaw. "No sir," he answered flatly. "I haven't thought about revenge."

Roggins leaned forward. "Not once? Not even after your uncle broke your wrist?"

Harry gaped at him. "It was an accident…"

"Was it?"

Harry stared at the patient wizard, his sinuses burning and couldn't speak. _He threw me too forcefully into my cupboard._

"Was it an accident when he pushed you into a table full of glass ornaments?"

Harry's breathing became shallow then, and he felt suddenly very dizzy. "Yes," he breathed. _He was just shoving me away from Dudley. He looked surprised when I started bleeding all over the kitchen floor._

"You have a scar from that," Roggins said softly, his voice taking on a gentle cadence. "Don't you, Harry?"

Harry dug his fingers into his palms and said forcefully, "Yes."

" _Stop_."

Sirius' hoarse plea bounced off the walls. Roggins glanced at him, then returned his attention to Harry and said, "Would you mind showing us?"

"No!"

All of the inquisitors turned at the explosive syllable. Sirius was standing again, his chains creating a booming cacophony as he trembled. The Aurors grabbed his arms but he shook them off.

"Leave him," Madame Bones said calmly and the red-swathed arms fell back to their sides. "Mr. Black, if Mr. Potter has no objection, I ask you to be still."

"No," Sirius said again, with less volume, but the same intensity. "You have no right to ask that of him, no right to humiliate him. I object because he won't; not if he thinks it might help me."

Madame Bones studied him. "Isn't that the reason you demanded we convene?" she asked. "To prove your innocence? We cannot do that without Mr. Potter's cooperation."

"We must have a complete understanding of his motivations," the fingerless witch said firmly.

Harry was thwarted as he tried to stand again. "It's all right," he said quickly, cutting off another protest from Sirius.

What did it matter if a roomful of strangers saw the tangled scars on his hip? What did it matter that he had never shown them to anyone? That he was horrified at the thought of showing them now?

"Harry, no," Sirius said, all of his muscles tensing again. "You don't have to do that." He turned back to Madame Bones. "Please… Please don't ask him to."

"It's all right," Harry repeated, the words tumbling over themselves as his face grew hot. "I can't stand though," he pointed out as Madame Bones met his gaze. He ignored the heat spilling down his neck. "If you want me to show you, I'll need to stand."

Her face relaxed, though she didn't quite smile. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Potter," she said. With a glance across the heptagram at Roggins, she nodded, "Thank you for your cooperation. You may go now."

"What? But—" The rest of his sentence was sucked away, the room's dull colors spinning all around them and then Harry was standing in the corridor outside the unmarked door.

"Harry?" Mr. Weasley took his arm gently and turned him around. "Are you all right?"

Harry gazed at him, registering that Mr. Weasley was there but not really making sense of it. He'd failed. He must have failed.

"Hermione Granger?" Inglebee's friendly voice asked.

"Yes…"

"If you will follow me."

Harry pulled away from Mr. Weasley's slack grip as the door shut behind them. _They didn't believe me/_

"Harry?" Lupin this time. "Are you quite all right?"

_They didn't let me talk to Sirius._

They hadn't even given him a chance to ask.

"Yeah," he said on a short breath and turned away, sheltering himself with the wall. He wasn't all right. He couldn't even pretend to himself. He felt like he was cracking.

Shattered like those glass ornaments. Into thousands of useless shards.

And he would never be whole again.


	5. Forgive me, for I have sinned

Hermione spent less than ten minutes in the heptagonal room and then Ron was immediately whisked through the door.

"They only wanted me to corroborate Harry's story about Pettigrew," Hermione explained when Mr. Weasley asked her what had happened. "They didn't ask me any questions, only to confirm that I saw him."

It took Ron a bit longer to reemerge, while Harry sat with his arms between his knees, staring at the checkered floor. His head came up just enough to see Ron's face when a loud pop announced his arrival.

"They didn't ask me anything about Sirius," he said to his father. He dropped into the chair next to Harry. "Only Scabbers. I told them I saw Sirius in the Shrieking Shack anyway; not sure they even heard me."

"Mr. Weasley?"

Harry's gaze swung up a little further. Inglebee stood just outside the door to the heptagonal room.

"Yes?" Mr. Weasley's eyebrows arched in surprise. Inglebee smiled.

"The Council requests your testimony."

"They asked me if you were here," Ron spoke up.

"The Council was prompted by your son's testimony," Inglebee explained formally, "to seek more information from another in the Weasley family. Will you consent?"

"Yes, of course," Mr. Weasley murmured. Inglebee nodded and stepped aside to allow him to go first, but before he turned, Mr. Weasley's gaze swept over Ron and Hermione, landing on Harry. "Don't leave the corridor."

"We won't," Hermione answered. Mr. Weasley smiled slightly and went through. Inglebee followed and then the closing door echoed around them; Hermione had already turned to Lupin. "What do you think that means?" she asked.

Lupin shook his head. "I don't know…"

"But it must be positive news, don't you think so?" she asked, leaning forward. "Focusing on Pettigrew like this. The whole thing is suspicious—that Scabbers disappeared when we saw Pettigrew and Sirius and they probably want Mr. Weasley to confirm that—"

"Hermione," Lupin's strained voice cut in. His face was paler than it had been all morning. "I don't know," he repeated quietly and Hermione flushed. Lupin tried to smile at her but it looked sickly. He went back to pacing. Harry saw Hermione exchanging glances with Ron, but neither of them spoke again. Harry went back to staring at the floor, his hands clenched tightly together.

It had to be good news, didn't it? Asking Ron questions about Pettigrew as well, instead of grilling him and Hermione about the truth in Harry's earlier statement. Maybe they had believed—

But Harry couldn't finish the thought. Even if they believed him, it meant nothing. And maybe they only wanted to have reasonable proof that Pettigrew was the murderer.

So that they could believe Sirius had wanted revenge.

Harry's hands twisted between his knees until it was painful. They were red; raw from the constant abuse throughout the day. How long would it take? Had they already decided if they would allow a Pensieve? Had they already decided not to?

Harry squeezed his fingers harder, concentrating on the tension it created along his arms, through his shoulders and the way it made his temples pound. Anything to drown out everything else.

"Remus Lupin?"

Harry looked up. Inglebee's voice was cooler, his expression guarded and lacking the friendly smile he'd given freely to the others.

Harry hadn't even noticed Mr. Weasley's return, but he was now frowning at Inglebee.

Lupin didn't say anything as he made his way over to the door. Inglebee stepped back. And Harry couldn't have said how the movement was different than when he'd allowed everyone else to precede him, but it was somehow. Lupin's mouth was drawn into a thin line and with his face absolutely expressionless, he crossed the threshold.

Inglebee waited until Lupin was all the way through, before following after him, that pleasant mouth curled in disgust.

It was silent in the corridor for a long time and then Hermione spluttered, "He's bigoted!"

Mr. Weasley rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "Yes," he said. "And I'm afraid that sort of reception is not unusual where Remus is concerned." He shook his head, as if clearing it and sat across from Harry. "How are you faring?" he asked quietly.

Harry shrugged and asked, "What did they ask you?"

"Simply to confirm Ron's timeline where Scabbers was concerned; when he came to our family and the last time I saw him." He glanced toward the door, sighed and added, "They do realize how unusual it is for a common rat to live as long as Scabbers did."

Harry nodded tightly. "Did they—" He swallowed, wanting very much to ignore the flare of hope in his chest, but he set his teeth and asked anyway, "Did they ask anything else?"

"No." Mr. Weasley rested against the back of his chair. "Except if Scabbers was missing a toe."

That's something.

Harry immediately quashed the stray thought. No longer able to sit still, he began walking the path that Lupin had set, keeping his gaze away from both the door and his friends.

He had no idea how much time passed before Lupin appeared in the hallway, but Ron was snoring softly in his chair and Hermione and Mr. Weasley were even beginning to nod off. Their heads jerked up as soon as the loud pop broke the silence.

Harry stopped walking, only because as soon as he saw Lupin's face, a tingling fear began to spread inward from his fingertips.

"Remus?" Mr. Weasley latched onto Lupin's arm. And even when Mr. Weasley had folded him into a chair, Lupin's arms and legs were trembling so much that Harry felt nauseous just to look at him. "What's happened?"

Lupin shook his head.

Harry caught himself with the wall closest. "Sirius?" It was the only thing he could say, and his voice was so hoarse, it was barely recognizable. They hadn't. They couldn't have…

"No," Lupin said, in that strangled tone that had accompanied him the entire day. "No, he's all right. It was just…"

Harry closed his eyes, his entire body sagging its relief and he didn't even hear the rest of what Lupin said. Winding his fingers through his fringe until his nails dug into scalp, he took in deep breaths against his palm. Focusing on nothing else except the feel of the hot breath against his clammy palms.

_Sirius is alive._ He didn't allow himself to add anything to that thought.

He jumped when a hand settled on his shoulder. Mr. Weasley was there, his expression frozen somewhere between worry and relief.

"The Council is taking a break for one hour," he said once he settled on worry. "They have invited both you and Remus to join them when they reconvene."

Harry shook his head, like a bull mesmerized by the matador's cape. "What does that mean?"

"They didn't explain," Lupin said from where he was still slumped in his chair. "And they only allowed me because Augusta asked them to."

Trying to figure out what that might mean beyond a prejudice against werewolves, Harry said, "To watch the rest of the trial?" Even though, somehow this wasn't considered a trial.

"They wouldn't tell me anything." Lupin swallowed. "They spent most of their questions on our time at Hogwarts. And questions about why Peter might… join the Death Eaters."

"But that…"

"I don't know how seriously they took my answers," Lupin said, bitterness and apology in his voice. "I'm not certain I was of any use…" He stopped talking.

"They wouldn't have asked you if they didn't think your testimony would be useful," Hermione interjected softly. Lupin had no response.

"Do you want to go in, Harry?"

Harry dragged his eyes back to Mr. Weasley. There was only one answer. "Yes," he said quietly, and before he would have to see anyone's reaction to that, he turned sharply and took the seat farthest from the little group, his hands clenched once more on his lap and his eyes straight ahead.

_They wouldn't call me in there to watch Sirius die._ But even as Harry thought it, he didn't believe it.

\--

_Dementors were attacking him. But no matter how fast he ran, he couldn't get away. And all the while, Sirius stood a few paces back, watching with disappointment furrowing his brow. And no matter how loudly Harry called for him, his godfather didn't come._

_He cowered on the floor as the Dementors' dark howls filled his ears. Making him shake._

Shaking hard enough to rattle his teeth.

"Harry."

The Dementors were calling his name now. He opened his mouth to scream but that same, worried voice escaped his own lips, "Harry!"

The Dementors and Sirius began to fade, and Harry's eyelids scraped as he dragged them open. Lupin's face was so close, Harry collided with the wall as he yanked himself backward. Lupin's lips hovered in a strange contortion while Harry struggled to reorient his brain to the long corridor and the unmarked door at the other end.

And Inglebee standing outside it, his hands clasped behind his back as if he intended to wait there all night.

"They're ready?" Harry swallowed several times, but found no saliva. Lupin nodded, that unnatural set still tilting his lips as he rose to his full height. Harry stood on shaky legs, not finding much circulation as he passed his friends and Mr. Weasley—all of them with heads flopped over in sleep.

"It's one o'clock," Inglebee volunteered cheerfully as Harry came closer. Harry stared at him, muddle-headed and not ready to understand how long they'd spent waiting in the corridor. Inglebee smiled and gestured for him to go through.

The door closed behind them without a comment for Lupin. The three of them walked quickly, with Harry setting the pace. Sirius was on the same dais, but this time he was sitting up straight, his eyes focused with intensity on the mouth of the corridor through which Harry entered. His shoulders didn't relax when he saw Harry.

He leaned forward as much as his guards would allow. There was fear in his grey eyes, tension pulling all of his features into a sharp mask as he followed Harry's progress to another dais along one of the walls. By the time Harry reached the small duo of stairs, his heart was pounding so loudly, he imagined he could hear its echo off the seven walls.

The heptagram was empty. And there were no white lines connecting the desks.

There was no one to stop him from going to Sirius—

"If you attempt to leave the dais," Inglebee said pleasantly, "the room will eject you immediately."

Harry turned sharply to the Ravenclaw, though there was no malice in his words. They weren't even a threat. Inglebee smiled at him again and said, "There are no consequences for speaking, even across the room. The Council will arrive shortly." He took his place on the outside of the heptagram, his casual stance deceiving no one.

Mrs. Longbottom and Remus were staring at him; Harry could feel their eyes even though he was looking at Sirius.

Sirius spoke first. "Harry, you don't need to be in here," he said, in a rasp that suggested he'd been talking for hours. Or denied water.

Squeezing the fabric at his knees in his each fist, Harry shook his head. "I want to."

"We have no idea what the Council intends to do next," Mrs. Longbottom said in a low voice, nearly as strained as Sirius'.

The words caused a riot in Harry's chest and he had to very carefully concentrate on staying in his seat. They weren't going to eject him.

"I want to stay." He watched Sirius straining against his shackles, trying to control his agitation and failing.

"Harry…" he whispered, but there was no time for anything else. Without a sound, or even a whisper of displaced air, the members of the Council appeared in their seats. Madame Bones raised her wand and drew an invisible heptagon. The white lines connected the desks once more.

Harry only noticed the other corridor leading into the room when a man in Azkaban stripes walked into the room, with Inglebee right behind, though when the guide had left, Harry couldn't have said. Inglebee gestured for the ragged man to step into the heptagram's field.

"Mr. Asparius-Jones," Madame Bones said in a solemn voice, "we are here today to determine whether Sirius Black was unfairly imprisoned. Do you intend to assist us in our determination?"

"Yes," the man said gruffly.

"Then we invite you tosit," Madame Bones said, and just as it had for Harry, a chair appeared. "My name is Madame Bones. Have you been marked with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's Mark?"

Eyes wide, Asparius-Jones bobbed his head.

"May we see it?" Roggins asked.

Asparius-Jones swallowed so loudly it made Harry flinch. Without answering, the prisoner tugged his left sleeve up to his elbow. The Council took in the sight without as much as a twitch.

"When did you receive that, Mr. Asparius-Jones?" the regal wizard demanded.

"Jan-January of… nineteen seventy-seven."

"Are you certain?"

A quick bob of the prisoner's head.

"Have you witnessed any other wizards taking the Mark?" Roggins asked.

"Th-three."

"Whom?"

Asparius-Jones swallowed hard again, but then he lifted his chin and said in a high-pitched voice, "Severus Snape took it the same night I did. I only saw two others…" He licked his lips. "Bertram Greengrass and Peter Pettigrew."

"When?"

"July," Asparius-Jones said haltingly. "1981, the same year the—" His blue eyes darted around the room before he whispered, "—dark lord died."

"And you are certain it was Bertram Greengrass and Peter Pettigrew?" Madame Bones asked.

"Yeah." The prisoner smiled, but it faded just as quickly. "Pettigrew cried when it burned his skin."

Madame Bones regarded him for a long moment and then she pointed across the heptagram to Sirius. "Do you recognize that man?"

Harry stiffened, waiting without breath for the answer.

Asparius-Jones stared at Sirius, but he eventually shook his head. "No."

"Do you know who he is?" Roggins asked.

"Should I?"

No one answered.

"Thank you," Madame Bones finally said, "you may go."

The man's eyes grew large and he opened his mouth but the words were choked off even as he said them. He disappeared as if he'd never been there at all.

Harry stared at the empty chair. He had no idea if Asparius-Jones' testimony would help or hurt. The Council seemed intent on proving that Pettigrew was a Death Eater.

To prove Sirius' revenge, the maddening voice in Harry's head taunted.

"Mr. Dubois," Madame Bones broke through Harry's quest to shut the voices up. He focused and saw Inglebee and another man entering the room. A man with very large ears and a scar cutting through his face on a diagonal. "If you will proceed."

The scarred man acknowledged the order with a brisk nod and went to where Sirius was sitting. "The Council has asked me to extract your memories of the events concerning the thirty-first night of October, in the year1981," Dubois said. "If you will permit me?"

Sirius shifted his head until he found Harry's eyes. "Your parents," he whispered across the room, and nobody tried to stop him. "Don't look."

Harry jerked a nod. Sirius tried another smile, but the glittering tears in his eyes obscured it. Harry bit the inside of his cheek. Sirius closed his eyes and allowed his memory to be taken.

Dubois pulled the silvery tendril delicately from Sirius' temple, guiding it with sure-footed steps toward the boundary of the heptagram. With a flick of his wrist, the memory splashed the center of the heptagram. Harry flicked his eyes to Sirius again and then watched as the liquid spread slowly to cover the floor, only stopping when it reached the white lines. In the next instant, with a sensation like he was falling, Harry was outside, the cloak of night surrounding him, even though he was sitting in the exact same chair.

With all of the members of the Council—everyone who had been in the heptagonal room.

Sirius came into focus then, a much younger Sirius—the memory version, without Azkaban's deep lines marring his face, though there was fear in his eyes here too. His hair trailed behind him and Harry finally noticed that he was on a motorbike and that he was flying through the air. Harry watched, unable to stop staring as the motorbike roared and then Sirius was landing on a grassy lawn, jumping off and stumbling several time as he ran toward a door.

He burst through it, calling, "James!"

Without moving, Harry was following him through a kitchen and into a sitting room, where Sirius halted. "James…" A sob caught in Sirius' throat and Harry jammed his eyes shut. "James," Sirius whispered again, the pain ricocheting off of all of them. There were other warbling noises and then a baby's shrill cry pierced the air. Harry opened his eyes, watching as Sirius sped up the stairs, all of the occupants of the heptagonal room following.

"Lily… my god… Harry… Harry, thank god…" Sirius stopped making sense then as he scooped the wailing toddler from his cot and cradled him against his chest. He rocked back and forth, his fingers carding gently through the tangled black hair.

Mesmerized, Harry stared at them. At his godfather holding him so gently, his nose buried in the baby's hair as Sirius rocked them, and his own tiny fists curled into Sirius' shirt as the wailing melted into hiccups.

"Shh… it's all right, love," Sirius crooned. "Everything is going to be all right… You're safe, love, you're safe… Sirius is here."

He gathered up a blanket from the cot and wrapped it around the little boy. "Come on, love," he whispered, "we need to get out of here..."

They made their way quickly to the backyard again, Sirius pausing in the parlour. His lips trembled as his eyes went back to the door—to James, Harry assumed but didn't look.

Sirius' arms tightened around his bundle with another muffled sob as he pivoted and hurried out. Just as he sat on the motorbike, Hagrid, with fat tears in his eyes, lumbered into the yard and the conversation and ensuing argument that he had once told Harry about, came to life. But this time, Sirius' pleas meant something altogether different.

"He belongs with me," Sirius said fiercely.

"Dumbledore's orders," the half-giant kept repeating stubbornly, no matter how many times Sirius argued, though he did look as though he regretted it.

"Why?" Sirius demanded. "He'll be safe with me."

Hagrid shook his head. "Dumbledore said Harry was to go Lily's sister for now. Said He'd be safest there; said nothing can hurt him there."

Sirius pulled the little boy protectively into his chest. "Does he think someone is going to come after him?" he asked sharply.

"Dumbledore just said Harry would be safe there for now."

Sirius searched the large face, the gentle eyes that no one could misread. Hagrid waited patiently. "All right," Sirius eventually breathed and Harry felt a cold knife stabbing his chest at the fateful words. "If Dumbledore thinks it's best for now," Sirius said quietly, a warble still in his voice. "And if he thinks we can make Harry safe, I want to help."

Hagrid nodded in relief. Sirius shifted little Harry in his arms. "You hear that, Harry?" he whispered softly. "Hagrid is going to take you somewhere safe. Just until I can make certain you'll always be safe, all right, love?"

The little boy babbled, and tears shone in Sirius' eyes. "I'll come right back," he promised. "Hagrid will take care of you," he said softly as he pressed a kiss to the rosy cheek.

Watching the memory unfold, Harry dug his nails into his knees, struggling futilely to keep his face from crumpling. He lost the struggle as soon as Sirius transferred his younger self into Hagrid's arms and the toddler began to wail.

"It's all right," Sirius told him hoarsely. "I'll be right there… Take my motorbike," he croaked to Hagrid. "I won't need it."

Hagrid looked down at him with dubious eyes. "You sure?"

"Take it," Sirius rasped. He reached out a gentle hand, caressed it over Harry's fringe as Hagrid lowered his bulk onto the bike's seat. "Be careful with him."

The little Harry continued to howl his displeasure as Hagrid revved the engine and rose up off the ground. Sirius watched the motorbike until it was out of sight, his hand over the lower half of his face, his body trembling in the late October night.

As soon as they were gone, he turned on the spot. Harry and the others swam along with him through the kaleidoscope of colors until another room solidified around them. It was bare, with furniture well-worn but tidy.

"Remus?" Sirius called hoarsely as soon as he solidified. Beside Harry, Lupin made a sound that could only be called a whimper, but Harry couldn't tear his eyes from his godfather's memory.

Hesitant footsteps rustled down the stairs in the middle of the room. Sirius' face immediately changed and with minimal movements, he drew his wand.

"Sirius," Pettigrew squeaked as he thrust his empty hands into the air, "it's only me!"

Sirius' wand arm tensed. "Who did you give James' address to?" he asked shakily. Peter paled but he shook his head.

"Padfoot, I-I don't know what you mean."

Sirius' face twisted with fury. "They're dead!" he cried. "James and Lily are dead and I know it was you, Peter! You were their Secret Keeper! Who did you tell? Tell me!"

A bead of sweat slipped into Harry's eye and he didn't see the spell Pettigrew cast, but he heard it, heard the reverberating, "Confringo!" The spell missed Sirius, reducing the couch to splinters instead.

"Impedimenta!" Sirius shouted but Pettigrew had already scrambled down the stairs. Sirius' next curse nearly caught his shoulder but he swerved at the last second and burst through a door. Sirius swore violently and ran after him, dodging another misaimed Confringo as he pursued his friend down an empty street lined with small houses. Pettigrew took a sharp turn around a store front at the end of the well-kept neighborhood and instead of resuming the chase, Sirius turned on the spot, Disapparated with a pop and reappeared just in front of Pettigrew.

A lady screamed as Sirius materialized from nothing. Neither man seemed to notice the bystanders as most of them fled. Sirius hurled a Leg-locking Curse at Pettigrew. Pettigrew scrambled away, shouting as he ran, "Murderer! You killed them, Sirius! Your own best friends! Murderer!"

Sirius' face crumpled in confusion, and the distraction was enough. Harry watched in horror as Pettigrew fired a Bone-ripping Curse into the crowd of dumbstruck gawkers. Sounds of flesh tearing from bones and the bones themselves as they were shorn in half.

Blood was spilling into the street.

Harry retched, closing his eyes on the carnage. A high-pitched laugh made him open them again. Pettigrew pointed his wand at his own finger, and with a screeched word, it tore away from the knuckle and fell to the ground, rolling to a stop in front of Sirius' black boot.

Sirius, eyes glassy and mouth gaping, stared at it, not even looking up as Pettigrew spat, "Pulsus!" As if a club had been rammed into his stomach, Sirius' eyes rolled back into his head and he doubled over with a low grunt as the street around them began to melt.

Pettigrew's face, and Sirius'—the blood... All of it swirled together and Harry sucked in a breath as he saw the heptagram in front of him again. No one spoke, and Harry immediately sought his godfather's eyes. Sirius' head was bowed, his shoulders quaking.

"Mr. Dubois," Madame Bones said, and for the first time, she didn't sound composed. Her monocle was dangling from her fingers.

"Yes, Madame?" Dubois queried unevenly.

Madame Bones straightened her shoulders. She replaced the monocle and said in her usual deep tone, "You are prepared with Veritaserum?" At Dubois' nod, Bones said to the Aurors, "Escort the prisoner to the heptagram."

Sirius brought his head up at the Aurors' sharp nudge. His chains clinked loudly as he shuffled down the stairs. When his eyes met Harry's, he lowered them quickly and Harry could easily read the shame in every line of his body. Harry clenched his fists, wanting to tell his godfather that he had nothing to be ashamed of. He felt a rush of hatred for the Council for making him endure this.

And for the scowling Aurors who shoved Sirius over the heptagram's boundary.

Sirius stumbled, only managing to catch himself enough to leave him on his knees—the tangled chains kept him from rising.

"Put out your tongue, if you would," Dubois said, his body twitching with his unease.

An unfathomable, sorrowful sound escaped Sirius' lips but he did as he was bid. Dubois leaned only an arm over the boundary line and put three drops of a clear liquid on Sirius' tongue.

"What is that?" Harry demanded before he could stop himself. Madame Bones glanced at him and didn't answer.

"It will compel Sirius to answer all of their questions truthfully," Lupin muttered. Harry noticed for the first time that his former professor's eyes were red, even though Lupin continued to stare straight ahead.

"Mr. Black," Madame Bones' voice filled the room, "we are here to determine if you were unfairly imprisoned. Do you intend to assist us in our determination?"

"Yes," Sirius gasped, as if he were in acute pain. Harry leaned forward, hurting even more than he had when Sirius had left the Weasleys' yard.

"Were you the Potter's Secret Keeper?"

"I was for a time," Sirius answered in a whisper. "James and Lily…" His jaw trembled. "They switched to Peter."

"Peter whom?" Roggins asked.

"Pettigrew…"

"Why?"

Sirius shook his head as tears burned his eyes. "I thought they would be safer. I was a target."

"Are you a Death Eater?"

"No!"

The Council sat still, unmoved by the harsh denial. Before they could ask him to, Sirius yanked his sleeve up, revealing pale skin and nothing more.

"Did you intend revenge on Peter Pettigrew when you found James Potter's body?"

The 'no' was barely audible.

Roggins leaned forward. "Did you want to kill him?"

Sirius' face convulsed. He closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. Harry's heart plummeted at that. He sat up straighter and ignored the feeling.

Roggins nodded once. "Did you kill him, Mr. Black?"

Sirius shook his head and said just as quietly, "No."

"Do you wish you had?"

Sirius didn't answer for a long time. "No," he finally breathed.

"Why not?" the witch with the missing finger asked in surprise.

Sirius opened his eyes. He looked straight at Harry as he said, "I wouldn't have done anything to risk being able to keep Harry. I fully intended to go back there as soon as I retrieved Remus and went to Dumbledore," he said quickly. "I never would have left you with Hagrid if I had known what was going to happen, Harry. You have to believe that. I never would have let him take you to those wretched people. Please believe me…"

His voice had lost its strength, petering out to another shallow gasp.

Harry swallowed. "I know," he said as clearly as he could, which wasn't very clearly at all.

"Mr. Black," Madame Bones said quietly and Sirius reluctantly dragged his eyes back to her. "Did any of your spells hit innocent bystanders during your duel with Peter Pettigrew?"

"No," he said through a throat that was going to give out at any moment.

Madame Bones gazed at him for a long minute. "Council of Seven," she murmured and stretched her arms out as if trying to reach those inquisitors closest. The others around the heptagram did the same, palms facing toward the ceiling as they closed their eyes.

None of them spoke. And Harry had no idea how long he sat there. How long Sirius waited on his knees. And just when Harry knew he could no longer stand it, the inquisitors opened their eyes and the fourteen arms returned to their desks.

"We have been summoned here today," Madame Bones said so that her voice filled the room, "to determine if Sirius Black was unfairly imprisoned, through whatever means the Council deemed appropriate."

"I have prepared several other witnesses—" Mrs. Longbottom began but Madame Bones cut her off with a raised palm.

"No further evidence is needed," she said quietly. "We have made our decision."

A decision? How had they made a decision so quickly?

They hadn't even asked many questions. Dread spread quickly through Harry's body. He gripped the edges of his chair as he leaned forward as far he could, his eyes boring into Madame Bones, waiting without any patience for her to continue.

_Please believe him._

"Sirius Black," Madame Bones went on, "by determination of the Council of Seven, you were unfairly imprisoned in 1981. And you are hereby exonerated of all charges against you and are free to leave at your leisure."

_Exonerated._

The word buzzed in the room, wrapping itself around him like cotton wool until Harry couldn't feel anything.

A roll of parchment appeared next to Sirius' knee. "Your godson is now your responsibility," Madame Bones added. "Good luck to you both." And with that, the seven inquisitors vanished.

Sirius' chains had disappeared as well; it was the sound of parchment being scrunched in his fingers that reverberated off the walls now.

Dazed, Harry rose slowly to his feet as Sirius struggled to stand as well, watching through a fog as Remus hurried down the steps. Lead was in his feet as he walked the same path.

He watched Remus hugging Sirius, both of them grinning. And then Sirius turned to Harry, a huge, expectant smile on his face. He held out his arms, looking like his face might crack from the force of his happiness. And Harry couldn't move toward him. His face felt so stiff it hurt and he realized as he turned his fingers into fists that he had never been this angry.

Something in Sirius deflated then. Very slowly, his arms fell back to his sides.

Harry's chest rose and fell as he stared at his godfather. "How could you do that?" he demanded through clenched lips.

Sirius stepped toward him. "Harry—"

"No. They might have set the Dementors on you," Harry said, so harshly it burned his throat. "Sent you back to Azkaban at the very least!"

"I know—"

"You had no right to do that," Harry shouted. "Didn't even ask me!" Harry had a very violent urge to punch his godfather right in the jaw. His hands were even trembling and he could imagine the satisfaction.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said hoarsely. "I didn't realize it would happen so quickly. And I had to do something…"

"You didn't!" Harry knew he was hysterical but he couldn't seem to stop himself. "I was fine with the Dursleys! I told you over and over that I was! You could have been killed!"

"I know—"

But Harry didn't care what Sirius knew. He took a furious step toward his godfather. Sirius stood his ground which only infuriated Harry further.

"They could have killed you the moment you arrived!" he shouted. "You could have been walking right into a trap!" Sirius didn't react and the shout had no recourse but to lapse into a pain-filled whisper. "You could have been killed, and then what would I do?"

Sirius swallowed. "I'm here now. I'm safe." He extended an arm, moving it slowly until Harry felt its solid weight against his shoulder. "I'm safe," Sirius repeated, ducking his head to meet Harry's eyes. "And you and I can go home."

_You and I._

Harry blinked away the sudden moisture in his eyes, a wobbly nod all he could manage. Sirius' eyes were shining as he palmed the back of Harry's head and pulled him close. "Oy, Harry," he muttered. Whatever else he wanted to say was lost in the quiet as Harry wrapped his arms fiercely around him, his face smushed into a shoulder.

He listened to the frantic pace of his godfather's heart until it finally settled. And then he twisted his neck so that he could breathe again, waited until he could manage the words and then said quietly, "I can stay with you?"

"Yes," Sirius breathed through wet laughter. His arms tightened. "Yes," he said again. "Whatever we do now, we do together."


	6. When You Find It

Harry finally remembered there was a small contingent beyond his godfather's embrace when a throat cleared softly behind them. Sirius let him step back, though he kept an arm around Harry's shoulders. Mrs. Longbottom was smiling at them, the two Aurors standing just behind.

"May I offer my congratulations?" she said quietly. "To both of you?" She took the hand Sirius offered.

"Thank you," he said, his voice still scratchy. "I can't possibly thank you enough."

She shook her head. "It was my pleasure," she insisted. "To help in correcting a mistake… and to help Harry. My grandson has always spoken very highly of you, Harry. And I've long been grateful he has someone like you to look up to."

"Neville's a good friend." Harry didn't really like the way his voice scraped over the words, but Mrs. Longbottom didn't seem to notice.

"I hope so," she said firmly before she turned her attention to Inglebee. "Duncan, I assume that you have been given instructions for Sirius' departure?"

"Yes ma'am," the aide said crisply. To Sirius he said, "You are welcome to use the main Floo—"

"Don't you think that might cause a bit of a panic?"

Inglebee flicked a brief, irritated glance at Lupin. "As I was saying," he went on, "even though the ministry is largely deserted at this hour, you may prefer to use the private Floo just outside these chambers. I have been authorized to set a Portkey to the destination of your choice as well, if you are going somewhere without a Floo connection."

As if he expected Sirius to have planned all this out, he raised his eyebrows and waited.

"What do you think, Harry?" Sirius asked. "Think the Weasleys might like to hear the good news?"

"The Weasleys are connected to the Floo," Inglebee volunteered. "Mr. Weasley works in the Department—"

"Yes, we know," Lupin interrupted, barely glancing at the Ravenclaw. "Molly probably hasn't slept," he said to Sirius, in a softer voice while Inglebee looked affronted. "I am certain she would like to see you. And then you and Harry are welcome to come to my home—for as long as you need to."

Sirius gripped Harry's shoulder. "That all right with you?"

Since Harry had absolutely no wish to go back to Grimmauld Place, he nodded. Lupin smiled, a look of pleasure that took over his eyes as well.

"The private Floo it is, then," Sirius said to Inglebee and the hoarse words made Harry wince.

"Excellent choice," Inglebee agreed. "There are a few details—"

"Could Sirius have some water first?" Harry blurted. Inglebee's eyebrows rose.

"Has he had any since he got here?" Harry asked, his own eyebrows soaring in an unintentionally mocking response.

Sirius squeezed Harry's shoulder. "I'll be all right for a few more minutes."

Harry studied his godfather's sunken eyes and barely stifled his protest.

"Very good," Inglebee said, obviously relieved not have to think about Sirius' thirst. With an elaborate flourish, he pulled a parchment from the stack in his hands and extended it toward Sirius. "This document states that you have been exonerated off all charges; signed, of course. And this is an agreement to reimburse you for the inconvenience of your time spent in Azkaban."

"If you would sign this one, Mr. Black," Inglebee said, indicating a dark slash at the bottom of the parchment, "as a guarantee that you will seek no further action against the ministry." He held up his quill expectantly.

"You shouldn't sign that," Lupin said. Sirius glanced over at him, a small smile curling his lip.

"Holding a grudge? How very un-Remus of you."

Lupin ignored the teasing tone. "What they did to you was wrong," he said with a brief glare toward Inglebee. "And you shouldn't pretend otherwise."

"Mr. Lupin, if you don't mind—"

Lupin turned on Inglebee, who flinched. "I do mind, as a matter of fact," Lupin said, his voice low and dark.

Inglebee straightened. "This is not really your concern," he said in an equally prickly voice.

"Neither is it yours," Lupin said coolly. "Unless you've just been elected Minister of Magic?"

Inglebee didn't answer. He very stiffly offered his quill to Sirius.

"If I may, Duncan," Mrs. Longbottom interjected smoothly, sliding the parchment from his hands before Inglebee could suspect she might, "I should like to read these before Sirius signs anything. If you have no objections, Sirius?"

"Of course not." He accepted the document that detailed his exoneration and Mrs. Longbottom folded the rest neatly in her pocket.

Inglebee crushed the quill's delicate feathers in his fingers. "Very good," he murmured without conviction.

"I will escort him to the Floo," Mrs. Longbottom said, sweeping in front of the mute aide and giving him no chance to protest. "Aurors Thomas and Wimble, if you would precede?"

Harry couldn't help his glare as the guards passed, even as they nodded cordially. As if they hadn't shoved Sirius to his knees less than ten minutes ago.

He looked up at Sirius when his godfather's fingers tightened against his shoulder, but Sirius' eyes were following the guards' progress. Sirius glanced down, and looked a bit startled to find Harry's gaze. The taut lines around his eyes eased as he smiled. "Let's go," he said softly, and kept his grip steady as they followed after the fickle Aurors.

When they stepped into the corridor, Mr. Weasley shot to his feet, fully awake now. "Sirius!"

The startled, exuberant exclamation roused Ron and Hermione. Their sleepy confusion transformed quickly into glee. Mr. Weasley pumped Sirius' hand up and down while Hermione hugged Harry, with Ron crowding in to give Harry giddy congratulations.

"You'll come with us, won't you?" Mr. Weasley asked while Sirius' eyes popped with surprise as he found himself squeezed by Hermione as well. "Molly won't have slept a wink. And she'll want to see that Harry is all right," he said, all in a rush.

"We are just on the way to the Floo," Mrs. Longbottom said in answer. Stepping across the narrow corridor, she waved her wand in an arc over another unmarked door and it swung open.

The Weasleys and Hermione were whisked away first, followed by Lupin. Harry stepped in next. Sirius took a handful of powder and stepped in beside him. He paused with the powder curled in his palm. "Augusta, I don't know how to thank you…" he said, the roughness in his voice even more pronounced.

Mrs. Longbottom waved the words away. "You already have. Along with you now," she said firmly. "Take care of Harry."

Sirius glanced down at Harry, his dark eyes shining a little as he nodded. "I will."

She smiled as she stepped back. "Yes, I know. There is no one in that chamber tonight who could doubt that."

\--

Once Mrs. Weasley was satisfied that Sirius and Harry were both whole—and after Mr. Weasley had assured her that they would be just fine at Lupin's house—she allowed them to leave. Each with a basket full of food, a stack of clean blankets and Sirius' clothes, freshly laundered.

Her last words, "Come for dinner!" still rolled around Harry's ears as the world stopped spinning long enough for him to realize that the apparition had deposited them safely in front of small house. Nine Canary Lane, as Lupin had told him to repeat before they'd Apparated, because the house was protected by something called the Fidelius Charm.

It was a familiar small house. A street that Harry wished he didn't remember quite so vividly.

"You all right?" Sirius asked near his ear. He waited until Harry nodded before he stepped back.

"It's from your memory…"

"Remus' house," Sirius explained with a quick nod. "I didn't expect to find Peter here…"

"Five minutes later and you wouldn't have," Lupin muttered as he chanted something at the doorknob.

"Not your fault, Moony," Sirius said automatically and Harry wondered how many times he had said it.

Lupin sighed and nudged the door open, holding it open as Harry and Sirius stepped inside.

It was the same parlour. With a different sofa to replace the one that had been obliterated by Pettigrew.

"You can bring those in here," Sirius said over his shoulder, already on his way into the kitchen beyond. "Here…" He shifted Harry's share of supplies into his own arms when Harry followed him. "Well," Sirius said, eyeing the parcels, "we have enough food for a month. And all this after the feast Molly already set for us."

Lupin came in then, with another basket and several of the blankets. Harry flattened himself up against the counter to make room. "Sorry," he mumbled as he moved out of the way.

Lupin glanced up, confusion giving his brown eyes a bit of an odd haze. He switched his gaze to Sirius, who was sliding over to make room for Harry near the stove.

"The kitchen is a bit small," Lupin offered, shrugging his shoulders in apology.

"I doubt even Hogwarts' kitchens could hold all this food."

Lupin grinned at Sirius, but it faded just as quickly. "Do you realize it's four in the morning?" he murmured, shaking his head. "I had no idea until I saw the clock in the parlour."

"Is it?" Sirius levered himself away from the counter. "Feels more like midday."

"Adrenaline…" With a frown, Lupin tilted his head to study Sirius. "Did they let you sleep?"

Harry couldn't see Sirius' face but it was impossible to misinterpret the ripple of tension through his godfather's back. "For a few hours," he said quietly. He lifted the lid on one of Mrs. Weasleys' baskets, removing a head of leafy lettuce and a bunch of carrots. "Does Molly think we're rabbits?"

It took a moment for Lupin's pursed lips to ease into a smile. "She probably knows you would feed Harry chocolate frogs and strudel if left to your own devices."

"I could make a fine strudel with these," Sirius retorted, jiggling the carrots until their tops danced. Remus smirked and caught the orange bundle as Sirius tossed them over.

"Let's cast a charm over the rest of this for now, yeah?" Sirius said as Lupin put the carrots in one of the tallest cupboards—another one charmed to keep things cold, judging by the full bottle of milk inside. "It will keep until morning."

"It is morning."

"Until later in the morning then," Sirius said as he launched the lettuce at his friend, who caught it with the practiced ease of someone who has had years-worth of lettuces thrown at his head.

Sirius turned back to Harry while Lupin dutifully cast a wide charm over the three baskets. "You look as though you could use more than a few hours of sleep."

To Harry though, sleep felt less important than it had in days. He felt keyed up, as though he could push through an entire weeks' worth of Snape's worst lessons without fouling up a single ingredient.

"Your eye looks better though," Sirius went on as he thumbed Harry's fringe away from the brow. "One more dose, I think. Remus has fresh in the lav upstairs." He let Harry's fringe flop back into place and turned to Lupin. "He can sleep in your old room?"

"Absolutely," Lupin agreed with a smile.

Sirius gave Harry's shoulder blade a gentle nudge toward the parlour, with Lupin leading the way. As they went up the stairs, Harry tried not to think about Pettigrew coming down these same steps all those years ago.

"Here we are," Lupin said as they stopped in front of one of the four doors on the second floor. "If you need anything…" He gestured to the room at the end of the short corridor.

"I know where to find you," Sirius finished with a smile. "Thanks."

"For a room? You know it's yours any time you need it."

"Not for the room, Moony."

Lupin gripped Sirius' shoulder for a second. "Anything, Sirius. That applies to you as well, Harry."

Harry nodded quickly, unsure what the proper response might be.

Lupin smiled. "Good night."

Sirius took the stack of laundry from his hands. "Night, Remus." When Lupin had disappeared into his room, Sirius set the clothes on the counter and plucked a squat tub from a shelf along the wall in the loo. Once Sirius had taken care of the final layer of salve, he led Harry into a bedroom, neatly kept, and worn like the rest of the house. The walls were mostly empty; the dresser and desk as well, except for a framed picture of what looked like a younger Lupin and his family.

"That's Remus' sister," Sirius said of the blonde witch smiling in the frame. I'll be in her old room, just across the corridor."

"I didn't know Lupin had a sister," Harry said as his gaze flicked across the corridor.

"She lives in Australia… hasn't spoken to Remus in years." Sirius leaned over and smoothed the bed's quilt with a sharp tug.

"Because he's a werewolf?"

"Something like that," he said, straightening up. "I don't think he would mind if you called him Remus," he added easily as he scooped up the pillow. Harry watched him squishing it this way and that, in the name of fluffing it.

"Yeah," he finally said with a shrug as Sirius set the pillow to rights. "He said I should."

Surprise peaked Sirius' eyebrows, but his grey eyes were amused. "I thought he was going to thump me when he came down from the dais."

Harry cocked his head, trying to remember any anger on Lupin's part, but he couldn't… Lupin had hugged Sirius when they'd met in the middle of the broken heptagram. Of course, Harry hadn't seen his face.

"He was really worried about you," Harry offered. Sirius raked a few fingers through his long hair and sighed.

"I didn't mean for it to happen so abruptly," he said quietly. "I know it must have been hell for you—"

"It's all right," Harry interrupted hastily, not wanting his godfather to apologize again.

"It isn't," Sirius said anyway. "And I am very sorry. I didn't want it to happen that way. But I didn't want you to worry until we knew for certain; unless it was necessary."

"I know," Harry said with a self-conscious shrug.

Sirius pressed his lips together but went on quickly, "I couldn't have asked you before I made my decision. I knew you wouldn't agree to it. But I had to do it. When I realized that Dumbledore was going to force you to return to the Dursleys… Harry—" Sirius curled a hand around one of Harry's shoulders. "—I know you don't think they hurt you; that it wasn't important, but I think it was. And I couldn't allow you to stay there. You have no idea how much I regret not doing this sooner."

It was difficult to look Sirius' in the eye, but he could find no solace in the bare walls beyond, so he swallowed and tried to explain, "I didn't want to go back there, but I would have."

Shaking his head, Sirius said, "You aren't listening to me." He took Harry's other shoulder and guided him until Harry had no choice but to sit on the end of the bed or tumble backwards onto it. Sirius sat beside him, twisting to hold Harry's gaze. "It isn't up to you to decide how much you can endure in order to keep others safe."

Harry opened his mouth, but Sirius cut him off with a soft, "I know you can't accept that. That is why I made the decision for you… which is extremely presumptuous of me, I know." Harry couldn't help smiling at Sirius' self-chiding. Sirius paused to return the smile and then said seriously, "You've been forced to give up too much, Harry. And I know it is another presumption on my part, but I do think I'll make a better guardian than the Dursleys."

"A few meals and a blanket," Harry said with a snort, "and you'll have won."

Sirius didn't even crack a smile. "Whatever you need, you will have it."

Harry shifted. "I know…"

Sirius didn't respond right away. When he did, pain softened his words. "Your uncle never should have touched you in anger. I'm very sorry he hurt you."

Harry tried to shrug it off, but the movement was a little too tense.

Sirius lips turned sour. "I will have to fetch your trunk at some point," he said, blowing a lock of hair out of his face with a forceful breath.

Harry's insides danced at the thought of Sirius going anywhere near Little Whinging. "They don't really like wizards."

"And yet they have no idea what an angry wizard is capable of," Sirius muttered. He sighed again as Harry started to protest. "I'm not going to do anything to them, Harry, much as I would like to. Those twelve years in Azkaban were quite enough."

He said it with a slight smirk but it didn't disguise the dark undertone. And Harry knew then that he had nothing to worry about when it came to Sirius hurting the Dursleys. Sirius wasn't going to do anything foolish. Not when he had risked everything for Harry—not only his life but his freedom.

And no one had ever done that for him; not since his parents.

Harry ignored the sudden lump in his throat, struggled for a moment and said too thickly anyway, "Thank you."

For a moment, Sirius' brow crumpled in confusion, as if he thought Harry was thanking him for not thrashing the Dursleys, but then his brow smoothed and his grey eyes softened. "You are very welcome."

He put an arm round Harry's shoulders and pulled him forward. Harry leaned into the hug, suddenly feeling the early hour—and the sleep he'd missed. "And if you're trying to avoid the subject of the Dursleys, kid," Sirius said, letting Harry go after a long minute, "I'm not that easily distracted."

Harry feigned a groan and let himself fall back on the bed. "It's four in the morning, you know. Aren't you supposed to be advocating an early bedtime or something?"

Sirius leaned back on a palm as he squinted down at him. "I'm rather certain I won't be pestering you about a bedtime. An occasional wash behind the ears… perhaps."

Harry grinned as he pushed himself up. "I won't be able to tell you and Mrs. Weasley apart."

"Something for you to grouse about with Ron..." His smile fading slowly, Sirius took Harry's chin in a careful hand. "You did not deserve to be mistreated by the Dursleys," he said in a voice strained with the past two days. "Even if they hate wizards, no matter what you did, they should not have hurt you… pushed you; manhandled you in any way. And I need you to understand that that won't ever happen to you again; that I won't hurt you."

His chin still captured, Harry nodded awkwardly. "I know."

Sirius' eyes searched his face, and Harry had no idea what his godfather saw there. "I don't think I really realized that I'm your guardian until this very moment," he finally muttered as he released Harry's chin. "And Dumbledore, whenever he discovers what we've done, will have absolutely no say in anything to do with you."

Harry cocked his head. "How can he not know already? Dumbledore knows everything."

"Apparently not." Sirius summoned a pair of pyjamas from the stack of clothes still waiting in the loo. "Get some sleep," he said, handing the soft cotton over. "I'll be just across the corridor if you need anything. The kitchen is full of food if you're hungry. Don't go outside; it's not protected along with the house."

"I won't."

Sirius nudged his jaw as he stood. "Sleep as late as you like. We'll wait lunch… or dinner." He drifted toward the door as Harry wadded the pyjamas into a ball. Sirius was smiling at him. "Night, kiddo."

Happy through the weight of fatigue that was making his eyelids begin to droop, Harry smiled too. "Night Sirius."

\--

When Harry trudged down the stairs, having just emerged from a dead sleep, he had already decided he knew what it felt like to be run over by the Knight Bus. Run over and reanimated, only to be flattened again. He scrubbed his fists over his eyes, and felt no better for it.

The upstairs was empty—at least Sirius' room had been. Harry hadn't checked Remus'.

"Thought you were going to sleep straight through."

Harry frowned, letting the words right themselves as he tried to make sense of them. He couldn't quite manage. Sirius was sitting in one of the chairs in the parlour, a book open on his lap.

"What time is it?" Harry asked; the words were broken by a yawn.

"Half seven."

Harry blinked stupidly at him. "In the morning?"

The lines around Sirius' eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Evening. You've been asleep for fifteen hours."

"I have?"

Sirius nodded. He closed his book, catching his place with a finger as he tilted his head. "You're missing a sock…"

Harry stared down at his bare toes. "Oh."

Chuckling quietly, Sirius summoned the errant sock. Harry mumbled his thanks as he plopped onto the sofa beside his godfather. It took him three tries to shove his foot into it. "I can usually dress myself," he muttered as he found Sirius trying not to laugh.

"I had a bit of trouble myself," Sirius told him, lips still twitching. "I only woke up an hour ago." He set his book on the table. "Would you like something to eat?"

The question made Harry realize how hungry he was. "Shouldn't we wait for Lupin… er, Remus?"

"He's having a shower." Sirius stood, stretching his arms out in front of him as a wide yawn claimed him. "Oy… I could sleep for another twelve hours at least," he said as his arms flopped heavily to his sides. "What do you feel like eating?"

Harry shrugged and followed his godfather into the small kitchen. "Anything."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "No favourites?"

"Cottage Pie," Harry answered without thinking. He immediately wished he'd not answered, but Sirius was already opening the cold cupboard, as if there had been nothing unusual in Harry's response.

"I think Molly gave us a parcel of minced beef… and we have carrots!" Triumphant, Sirius extracted the bunch from the cold cupboard and plunked it on the counter. "Don't think I've ever made cottage pie, but I've certainly eaten it. Does it have onions? I think it does… Check the baskets… I don't see any in Remus' cupboard."

"Er… all right." Harry began rummaging around in Mrs. Weasley's supplies. "Here's the beef," he said; it was cold to the touch even though it had been nowhere near the cold cupboard.

His hands full of potatoes and peas, Sirius motioned with his chin and Harry added it to the pile of vegetables in his godfather's arms. "Onions," Sirius reminded him with a smirk when he'd unloaded the vegetables near the stove.

"Right…" Harry unearthed several at the bottom of one of the baskets, but his glance around the tidy kitchen for a knife was interrupted by several loud raps against the front door. Sirius paused in lighting the stove, the end of his wand already aflame.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, the flame disappeared and Sirius had extended his wand in front of him. "Stay here," he ordered under his breath, and slipped out of the kitchen without a sound.

Harry drew his holly and crept to the edge of the kitchen, his heart slamming against his ribs. Even though the house was supposed to be warded.

"Bollocks," he heard Sirius mutter and then the door was opening. "Dumbledore," was the next clipped word to emerge. Relieved and alarmed in one swift breath, Harry left his hand to hover near his wand as he slid it back into his pocket.

"Good evening, Sirius." Dumbledore's greeting was perfectly pleasant and when Harry stepped out into the parlour, the headmaster was smiling. His blue eyes found Harry instantly. "Harry, you look well. Not a trace of bruising," he said as he shook out his robes, though no one had yet offered him entrance.

Harry's fingers strayed to the eye that Dudley had so recently blackened. "Sirius gave me salve," he said, and then was surprised at his own defensiveness. Dumbledore nodded though, as if Harry wasn't frowning.

"I've taken the liberty of retrieving your trunk from Privet Drive," he continued on pleasantly. "I thought I might spare you the journey."

Sirius' eyes had narrowed, the grey sharp and intent. "How did you know we were here?"

"I took tea with the Weasleys this afternoon," Dumbledore answered in the same benign tone. "Ronald was not as circumspect as his parents urged him to be," he added; humor leant a sparkle to his blue eyes.

More than a little confused, Harry looked to his godfather, but Sirius was still studying Dumbledore with a deep frown. "What are you playing at?" he finally demanded when the aged wizard continued to decorate the stoop.

Snowy eyebrows swept up the lined forward. "I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Sirius."

"No?" Sirius' arms crossed his chest; he hadn't put his wand away. "Two days ago, you swooped into Grimmauld Place and insisted that Harry return to the Dursleys even though he'd just been pummeled by his cousin and now you've brought us his trunk?"

"I assumed Harry might like his own clothes," Dumbledore answered in the sort of tone one might reserve for angered Hippogriffs.

Sirius stared at him. "And the news that I've been granted guardianship of Harry—not to mention my freedom? You have nothing to say about that? Or had you not heard?"

Dumbledore seemed not to notice the sarcasm. "I have. I did not come here with an ulterior motive, Sirius." Peering over his half-moon spectacles, he asked curiously, "Did you expect I might throw a child's tantrum or attempt to kidnap Harry from Remus' parlour?"

"No one thinks that."

Harry turned at Lupin's interjection. Sirius didn't move, but Dumbledore glanced at Lupin, smiling a little.

"Thank you, Remus," he said. "If I might come in? I have had a rather tiring afternoon."

"Of course."

Sirius was still scowling as he stepped back to allow the headmaster—and Harry's floating trunk—into the house. Neither Sirius nor Harry sat, and Lupin only after Dumbledore declined his offer of tea.

"Please do sit, Sirius," Dumbledore urged. "Harry. I will not stay long, as I know both of you have endured much more than I over the past days."

"And how do you know that?" Sirius asked tightly from where he and Harry stood together beside the kitchen door.

The old man's eyes were tired now, showing his age more than Harry was used to. "Quite simply, Sirius, because I was there."

"There?" Sirius echoed, his frown finally faltering. "Where?"

Dumbledore's hands fluttered against his ruby robes—a color that Harry had never seen the headmaster wear. "The Council could not have convened without my knowledge…"

Harry thought he must still be suffering the effects of his massively long slumber, because he had no idea why Sirius' spine jerked, or why he took an aborted step forward, halting with his fists at his sides, his wand still held in a white-knuckled grip.

"Which one were you?" he eventually asked, the words a snap of harsh breath.

Harry looked between Sirius and Dumbledore, even more confused.

"Roggins," Dumbledore murmured softly.

Roggins… Harry's mind echoed the name dumbly.

Sirius' wand sliced through the air, but nothing happened. No crackle of magic, no spell to knock the headmaster to the floor. Just silence.

Silence that filled Harry's ears until he thought he might explode.

Dumbledore had been Roggins.

Roggins, who had known too much.

Harry had thought it had been the heptagram's magic…

"How did you know?" he heard himself asking. Speaking even though everything was suddenly hazy. Blood was pumping too quickly through his temples.

"You used Legilimency on him," Sirius said flatly.

"What does that mean?" Harry asked shakily.

"I saw your memories," Dumbledore explained softly. "When I came to Grimmauld Place."

"My… memories?"

Before Dumbledore could offer anything else, Sirius said furiously, "You had no right to do that."

"You accused Harry's relatives of abuse, Sirius; negligence at the very least. Surely, I could not ignore that—"

"You knew they kept him in a cupboard!"

"I did not know that until he was already attending Hogwarts," Dumbledore murmured.

Sirius slashed his wand through the air again and this time, the air around him did snap. "And you believe that frees you of culpability?" he demanded harshly.

"No," Dumbledore answered without hesitation. "Nothing can do that."

"You're damn right it can't!"

Dumbledore absorbed the sharp words without flinching. Without saying anything at all. Sirius' chest was rising and falling too rapidly to be safe. And even with all that, Harry could only focus on the raw ache in the pit of his stomach. The humiliation and anger, slowly burning its way up to his chest.

He stared at nothing as he asked quietly, "You saw everything?"

_Every time Uncle Vernon flung me into my cupboard? Every time Aunt Petunia screamed at me? Every single game of Harry Hunting?_

Dumbledore didn't answer and Harry wanted to run away. To flee as he had when Sirius had Apparated away from the Weasley's garden.

Before the idea could do more than germinate, he realized Sirius' fingers were wrapped around his wrist, and he wondered how long they'd been there.

"It was never my intention that you should be harmed, Harry," Dumbledore said into the panicked silence.

"I don't believe you," Harry said bitterly, and didn't even care that Dumbledore's eyes widened.

"Harry—"

"If you saw my memories at Grimmauld Place, then why did you say I still had to go back to the Dursleys?"

"You were safe there," Dumbledore answered, as if it was the most logical answer in the world.

Harry turned away. Safe. Bloody likely.

He wasn't going to run. He didn't need to run. Sirius hadn't moved; hadn't even taken the comforting hold from his wrist.

"I think it's fairly obvious that Harry wasn't safe with his relatives, Albus," Lupin spoke softly. His emotions under control now, Harry waited for Dumbledore's vague response.

Instead, the wizened head nodded. "He was safe from Voldemort. So long as he stayed with his mother's sister—as a member of her family—Harry was surrounded by protective wards, forged by Lily's sacrifice; by the blood she shared with Petunia. Nothing outside those walls could harm him."

Only within.

The irony nearly made Harry smile. Except that he still wanted to shout at Dumbledore.

"Why didn't you explain that?" Sirius asked, still grasping Harry's wrist.

"Would it have made a difference to you?"

"No."

Dumbledore smiled without humor. "Then it does not matter." Sirius shifted, but Dumbledore cut him off before he could speak. "You are free, Sirius. And you may now rebuff each and every one of my efforts to keep Harry safe. Have you not everything that you wanted?"

"Yes, I have." Sirius bit the words off. "And I fully intend to make certain that Harry is safe."

"Do you?" Dumbledore asked, layering his hands over his crimson lap and leaning forward. "That is good news indeed. The protective wards on Privet Drive no longer exist, of course. The moment you accepted the document concerning Harry's guardianship, they disappeared. And nothing I can do will bring them back—"

"It doesn't matter; he isn't going back there."

"Though I suppose," Dumbledore mused as if Sirius hadn't interrupted, "if Harry were to have a parent on staff, he would be able to stay within the protective wards of the castle all summer… and special wards could probably be erected around that parent's quarters, in case of emergency…"

Sirius and Harry—and Lupin from the sofa—were all staring at him, Harry wondering if he was stuck in a dream. The mad sort of dream that always seemed to end with someone naked and in a room full of gawkers.

"Well," Dumbledore said as he rose, "I do have an appointment this evening. And I'm sure you would like to get back to your dinner preparations. Cottage Pie? Harry's favourite, I do believe."

"That's it, then?" Sirius asked, his voice strained. He'd moved his hand to Harry's shoulder, his fingers restraints. "You invite me into the castle and we pretend none of this ever happened?"

Dumbledore lifted his eyes to meet Sirius'. There was nothing gentle about the blue now. "Voldemort has targeted your godson. He will not stop until one of them is dead. You cannot change that, Sirius." He flicked his fingers and a thick roll of parchment hovered in front of Sirius' face. "A contract for your immediate employment. Each of us would do well to accept what must be." He inclined his head, with a soft, "Good evening," and left in silence.

Harry stared at the front door, every bit of anger and humiliation drained. It had been replaced by cold fear. He had known, in a way, that Voldemort was never going to stop. But that didn't make Dumbledore's words any less terrifying.

"Do you…" He swallowed, and had no idea what he wanted to say. But it didn't matter; Sirius had pulled him close. Strong fingers laced through Harry's hair as Harry tried not to picture Cedric's face… or Quirrel's as he'd turned to dust. Or Ginny's as Tom Riddle had tried to drain her life away.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," Sirius said, somehow giving strength through a whisper. His arms tightened. "Do you think I put us through all of this just to let Voldemort win?"

Harry couldn't answer.

"We are going to beat him, Harry," Sirius said into his hair. "I'll make certain you are free of him."

And no matter that Sirius couldn't be certain, somehow that didn't stop Harry from believing him.


End file.
